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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496504">Remaking the world by naming it together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interpolations/pseuds/Interpolations'>Interpolations</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, David Jacobs-centric, Family Feels, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Henry/Sniper (Newsies), Minor Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Mother-Son Relationship, My terrible sense of humour projected onto 19th century teenagers, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Esteem Issues, Slightly more fun than the tags make it sound, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:20:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>156,219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interpolations/pseuds/Interpolations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>David wondered at what point promises of his potential started to feel like warnings of an imminent disaster.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or: David Jacobs, through the years through words</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Jacobs &amp; Esther Jacobs, David Jacobs &amp; Les Jacobs, David Jacobs &amp; Sarah Jacobs, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>554</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fortuitous: November 28, 1888</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to “I have a lot of feelings about David Jacobs and decided to express them through deep-POV and parallels: the fic.”</p><p>A few things: see that “Unreliable Narrator” tag? I mean that. Also, see that “Slow Burn” tag? I <em>really</em> mean that. As for the actual warnings, I have tagged the ones that are overarching. Chapter-specific warnings will be included in the notes. </p><p>Title adapted from A.S. Bayatt's <em>Possession:A Romance</em></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Fortuitous</strong><em> adj. </em> due to or characterized by chance, especially lucky chance. <strong>Fortuitously </strong> <em> adv. </em> <strong>fortuitousness </strong> <em>n.</em> [Latin <em>fortuitus</em> from <em>forte</em> by chance]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>November 28, 1888</strong>
</p><p>Shortly after Sarah and David turned six years old, Mama sat them down at the table and explained that someone new was going to be joining their family. David had asked if he should move their things into their parent’s room, like they’d had to when the Hochman’s wall broke in January. Mama had laughed and said no, it wasn’t like that. She was having a baby. They were going to have a new sibling.</p><p>Many years later, David learned that Esther Jacobs had waited almost a month to be certain before she told them of her pregnancy. It had also been almost a month before the factory supervisor had been alerted. Only hours before she sat them down at the table, Esther had walked away from her job with a hastily written letter of reference, the well-wishes of her co-workers, many hugs from the girls she had trained, and five sheets of paper she had grabbed from the manager’s desk when he had left to get her reduced pay.</p><p>That same evening, after tucking their children in bed, Mayer and Esther had sat at the kitchen table and painstakingly copied identical missives onto the borrowed sheets. They finished their work late, retreating to bed as the day threatened to dawn. The papers sat on top of the bookshelf, waiting to fulfil their duty. Each was titled:</p><p>
  <em>Jacobs’s Laundry, Repairs, and Needlework</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quick, inexpensive, high quality</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Prices and time negotiable</em>
</p><p>The next morning, while Mayer was at work and Sarah and David were at school, Esther took the pamphlets into the nearby shops. She nailed the remaining sheets to the community boards. Within the week, Esther had a pile of work. It was a welcome way to occupy her days, and ensured that their family could live comfortably while she was pregnant and for the time following their youngest’s birth when Esther looked for employment beyond the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory.</p><p>In over twenty years David would find himself sitting very quietly in his apartment, reading about the disaster through blurring eyes. As he remembered the way the sirens had barely drowned out the horrified screams, he would be struck with a gratitude beyond words that the youngest member of their family inadvertently led to his mother’s dismissal from a job that would have likely claimed her life.</p><p>In 1888, though, David already considered his family very lucky, since the year that his Mama was home to greet them after school was also the year David often came home in need of a fond greeting. See, 1888 was the year David went from being known as a naturally inquisitive child to a phenomenally irritating one.</p><p>Though he was only six, David already knew this was true. However, if asked, he would clarify that while he made people <em>irritated</em> that did not mean he was himself <em>irritating</em>. The issue was he would say it just like that, which other children did not appreciate and adults definitely did not appreciate. People did not like David’s words. This was unfortunate as David found he quite liked using them. By only his third month of school, David had a reputation: with his mind, he was sure to become something truly great if he somehow avoided all the people that wanted to strangle him before he reached adulthood.</p><p>Thankfully, David had Sarah. Sarah, who told him to silently count to ten before answering the teacher’s questions. Sarah, who listened to him babble all the questions he had been too scared to ask in class on their walk home. Sarah, who would steer him away from an angry newsie after David corrected the older boy’s pronunciation. Sarah, who passionately defended David their parents when he came home in tears, clutching his sore ear, after he’d impertinently told Mrs. Howard not to say such rude words to the delivery boy.</p><p>Sarah was the best person in the whole world but she wasn’t always there. Unlike David, there were many people who wanted to be Sarah’s friend. Most of these people did not like David. David tried to encourage her to go on without him, making up excuses about sore knees and coughs. And on the occasions that his sister accepted his excuses David did his best to be understanding. It was an easier task after Mama got pregnant; he knew he wasn’t looking forward to spending every day with an annoying little kid so he couldn’t really fault Sarah’s friends for not wanting to spend time with him.</p><p>On the days Sarah was out and David was home, he would continue doing his homework at the table and then he would continue working his way through the books in the house. And when David had any questions, he would ask the nearest person.</p><p>And so, after a month of being home, Mama sat David at the table and brought him the family dictionaries. She pointed them out individually: the salt-stained green book was for Polish words, the battered black book was for Russian words, and the large blue book was for the English words.</p><p>“When you come upon a word you don’t know, use these books to look it up. They are ordered alphabetically. Do you know what that means?”</p><p>David squished his brows together as he dug through his memory. “In the same order as the alphabet?”</p><p>His mother nodded. “And you know your alphabets. Correct?”</p><p>David nodded back. Her and Tata had coached him through the basic alphabets a few years ago. He liked the English and Polish ones. Yiddish too. Russian was…he did not like Russian.</p><p>“When you want to find a word, you start with the first letter and go to that section.” She tapped the copy of <em>Treasure Island</em> that he had gotten for his birthday. “Find us a word.”</p><p>David flipped back to where he had left off and scanned the page, before deciding on: “assizes?”</p><p>“What does that start with?” She asked.</p><p>“A,” he said firmly. He knew the English alphabet very well.</p><p>She flipped through the book until she landed on a page with a bold ‘A’ written at the top of the page. “What is the next letter?”</p><p>David looked down. “S.”</p><p>She flipped through the book again before she came to a page where every line began with a word beginning with ‘a-s’. “Can you see it yet?”</p><p>David traced his finger down the list of words. “No.”</p><p>“It must be on a later one. Perhaps we should skip ahead again, like before. What is the next letter?”</p><p>“Another s,” he said. “Oh! Like a donkey!”</p><p>Mama smiled. “Yes, David. Like a donkey. Here we are. Do you see it on this page?”</p><p>He checked. Assibilate, assiduity, assiduous, assign, assignation…and then, there, almost at the bottom: “Assize!”</p><p>“Good. And what does it say about ‘assize’?”</p><p>“Um…it’s a session of a court. Mama, what’s a session?”</p><p>“Well, what does it start with?”</p><p>David jerked his head up. His mother was staring back at him, her brow raised like it always did when she knew he was about to ask her a question. And her lip was twitching the way it did when Tata was telling her odd stories to win one of her rare laughs. The expression was much funnier when it was directed at Tata.</p><p>David’s mouth opened and closed, unable to force the dreaded question out. “You don’t mean-”</p><p>“Yes, I do,” She nodded with the words, as though to prove how serious she was. “That is how you use these books.”</p><p>“But it will take forever!”</p><p>“It will not, and watch your tone,” she warned.</p><p>As his mother often said, David was too old for whining. In light of such injustice, though, he continued: “Why can’t I just ask you? You know everything!”</p><p>“Oh David, I definitely do not know everything. And it is important that you know how to do this yourself. Sometimes it is good to struggle to find an answer.” She reached down and smoothed his hair with a soft brush of her hand. “You are a smart boy and that will get you far and it will make many things easy for you. You need to learn how to work hard now so that when things get less easy you will know what to do.”</p><p>That was one of his mother's favourite reasons for making him and Sarah do their chores. It was also impossible to argue against, though both of them had tried.</p><p>David tried again: “But people don’t even use these words outside of these books. I can just skip them. There are enough other words. Why should I care what these ones mean?”</p><p>Mama hummed. Her hand stilled in brushing his hair and she looked up and far away. It was what she always did when she really thought about an answer.</p><p>Finally, she broke the silence that had begun to settle in their home. “You are right; most of these words are very rarely used. They were created for very specific thoughts and feelings and things that most people do not have. But you learning these words is not about using these words. It’s about having them. Your thoughts are often very big, David, and I want you to be able to understand them. Sometimes to understand very complicated thoughts you need very complicated words. I want you to know how to find the words you need to explain your thoughts; maybe to others, maybe to me, or maybe to yourself. A good way to begin that task is to find what others have meant using such words to explain themselves. Do you understand what I mean?”</p><p>Unfortunately, David understood what she meant.</p><p>So that was that. David spent many days carefully flipping through the dictionaries to find meaning in the words he was reading. It was very annoying. Often by the time he had found the word he had forgotten what he had read and had to read the page again before referring back to the entry he had spent so long searching for. His mother kept a careful eye on him, reminding him to be gentle when his anger began to show in how he turned the pages.</p><p>Eventually it got easier. He started to remember the story while he searched. His hand seemed to recall the press and weight of the pages, like traces on his fingertips. And he remembered more of the words after he looked them up. He remembered them the next time he saw them and he remembered them when he was talking. He had learned what they meant and he’d learned them well.</p><p>He also learned when to use the words. They were much better received at home. His parents still smiled whenever he used them correctly.</p><p>As the long winter turned to spring, David found an easy rhythm. In the evenings, he and Sarah would finish their homework at the kitchen table. After, his sister would go out with her friends or join David in helping their mother make supper. Their father would arrive home as they laid the food out on the table. The four would sit together, trading silly stories from the factory, schoolhouse, the tailor shop, or the city’s news, depending on where humour was to be found that day. After eating, Sarah and David would clear the table, Mama would grab the mending, and Tata would grab the books. Mama would hand Sarah scrap pieces to practice her sewing while David read out loud, with his father helping him with the more difficult pronunciations. And every night, as she tucked him into bed, Mama asked David what his favourite new word was and why.</p><p>That was how life continued until one summer day when Mrs. Hochman came out fetch him and Sarah from playing a game outside and said they were to wait with her: the baby was coming.</p><p>Though the year had been marked by deep freezes and blizzards, the newest Jacobs arrived on a warm August evening. As the hours grew late, the world went quiet besides the noise of clattering dishes and the soft melody Mrs. Hochman sang to her broth. The open shutters did little to offset the sweltering heat of the stove. The whole world seemed still, like it was as anxious for the new arrival as Sarah and David were. </p><p>The two of them sat on the small sofa in the corner of the main room. His sister was balancing a book on her lap, angled between the two of them so that it looked like they were reading. Their minds were elsewhere, though. David was certain Sarah’s was with their mother, worrying after her as Sarah often worried after others. David’s was in a similarly worried state, though he had always been more selfish than his sister.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll like me?” The question came quiet and unbidden from David’s lips.</p><p>Sarah looked over at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”</p><p>“The baby.” He said. He pulled knees to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs, staring at the rug to avoid seeing his sister’s face.</p><p>“They’re gonna love you, silly, how could you say that?”</p><p>David shrugged. It was an awkward motion curled up as he was. “Lots of people don’t like me.”</p><p>Sarah huffed and poked his cheek. He turned to her obligingly to see her scowl. “Lots of people are stupid.”</p><p>“Maybe,” David said with a sigh.</p><p>“Definitely. And our sister—or brother—won’t be stupid. They’ll be a Jacobs. Jacobs aren’t stupid.”</p><p>David smiled and leaned his head on her bony shoulder. Sarah had a way of saying things that made them absolute. It was a power he had learned to respect so he did not argue, though worry still clawed at his chest.</p><p>“David! Feet off couch!” Mrs. Hochman scolded.</p><p>They both looked up. Their father stood tall beside the slight woman. He looked very tired and wore the biggest smile David had ever seen. “Would you like to say hello to your little brother?”</p><p>They did not need to be asked twice. The two of them shot up and clambered out the door, down the stairs, into their home, and across to their parents’ bedroom. A lady—a midwife, as she had introduced herself a few days prior—was packing up her things. She paused in her work and grinned as the two of them hovered in the doorway.</p><p>Mama was laying in bed, propped up on what must have been all the pillows they had, cradling a small swaddle. She looked even more tired than Tata but she smiled warmly when she saw them. Tata lifted them both up from behind and placed them at their mother’s side. The baby—their <em>brother</em>—was wrinkly and funny looking, face red and scrunched. He was beautiful.</p><p>“This is Lesham,” his mother whispered.</p><p>“Hello Lesham,” Sarah echoed in awe.</p><p>“Hello,” David said.</p><p>His father squeezed his shoulder. “Lesham Mayer Jacobs.”</p><p>“Lesham <em>Mordche</em> Jacobs,” Mama corrected without looking up.</p><p>“That’s what I said.” Tata poked Lesham’s chest and his tiny face scrunched up sourly. “We’ll call him Les for short. Little Les Jacobs.”</p><p>The midwife chuckled. “If he’s anything like the rest of you, he will not take kindly to being called ‘little’.”</p><p>His father laughed too. “I don’t doubt it. He’ll have a mind of his own, I can already tell that much.”</p><p>Tata squeezed David’s shoulder again before the bed shifted as he stood to show the woman out. David barely noticed. The three remaining Jacobs were too busy looking at the newest member of their family.</p><p>His mother broke their silence: “David, would you please grab me the present from the closet?”</p><p>David did not want to stop looking at his—<em>his</em>—little brother, but he could never refuse his mother. The word ‘present’ also helped. He slid off the bed, breaking his gaze from Les as he turned to look in the closet in the corner. Just as she had said there was a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper.</p><p>His mother smiled at him as he clambered back up onto the bed and handed her the squishy bundle. She passed it over to his sister. “Sarah, would you please open it?”</p><p>Sarah did so, undoing the twine and folding back the paper. She gasped. Before David could crane his neck to see inside, Sarah pulled back the wrapping to reveal—a quilt. His mother took it and tucked it around Les.</p><p>“Is that-?” Sarah had begun to ask, and David suddenly saw them; the pieces his sister had sewn together during their shared evenings had been assembled into the quilt.</p><p>“You did a wonderful job, Sarah.” Mama said. Les burrowed himself into the material. “And it looks like your brother thinks so, too. And I’m sure you will help him read it when he gets older, won't you David?”</p><p>David furrowed his brow. “Read it?”</p><p>His mother’s lips twitched. “Look closer.”</p><p>He did. Along the seam lines, in his mother’s neat embroidered cursive, were all the words he had whispered to her before bed. A warm feeling grew in David’s chest.</p><p>“I will help him,” David confirmed. “I think he will learn fast.”</p><p>“Well, he’s a Jacobs.” Tata agreed as he made his way back into the room. “We Jacobs are often too smart for our own good.”</p><p>Sarah laughed. “We can keep him out of trouble.”</p><p>“Oh, will you?” Their father teased. He scooped Sarah up and into his arms, letting her legs dangle as he swung her about. “Are you sure you’re not just going to teach him your trouble-making ways?”</p><p>“No Tata!” She giggled. “We’ll protect him!”</p><p>Mama just smiled at their antics. “I will hold you both to that, my darlings.”</p><p>David smiled too. He poked at Les’s small hand. His brother unfurled and then curled his fist around David’s finger, holding on tight, skin warm and soft. David stroked the little fist with his thumb, feeling the warmth of the summer night seep into his heart, and committing the moment and his promise to memory.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Kolega: December 8, 1891</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again. Thank you for reading the last chapter and for the kudos and comments.</p><p>Additional warnings for this chapter: implied/referenced bullying, implied/referenced past corporal punishment.</p><p>Fun with the 19th century American education system.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Kolega</strong>(kolɛɡa)<em> n. </em> colleague, not quite a friend; a person with whom one is closer to than an acquaintance but not close enough to develop a deep trust [Polish]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>December 8, 1891</strong>
</p><p>David’s fourth year of school was the first year he did not actively dread attending.</p><p> There were a few reasons for this. One was that he actually had friends that weren’t his sister. It had been the surprise of a lifetime to have Benjamin-and-Rebecca-from-shul also become Benny-and-Becca-from-school. To say the Jacobs twins were glad for their move would be an understatement. Benny and Becca brought a lightness to their usual seriousness, all playful spirits and teasing jokes. With their similar appearances and attitudes, it was like they were just as much twins as the Jacobs—the Finlevy twins, as it were. The four spent many happy walks to and from school catching the two new students up on the schoolyard gossip.</p><p>Another good development was that the game See How Many Times We Can Trip David Before We Get Caught had lost its popularity. David would like to credit his and Sarah’s campaign of “he’s actually tolerable if you stop pretending that he hasn’t changed since first term”. Benny and Becca’s friendship was more likely the reason—that two fun and easygoing people would voluntarily spend time with him seemed to put David in a more acceptable light. As a result. only those most dedicated to the cause continued to harass him.</p><p>But the most welcome change of the year was Mr. Harrison.</p><p>Almost the minute it was announced that Mrs. Atkins would be leaving only two weeks into term, the school descended into a frenzy.</p><p>“I heard he was teaching at that fancy school in Brooklyn.”</p><p>“I heard he got kicked out of that fancy school in Queens.”</p><p>“I heard his father’s a senator.”</p><p>“I heard his wife’s an heiress.”</p><p>“I heard he’s the one that got Mrs. Atkins pregnant.”</p><p>“I bet he pushed Mrs. Atkins in front of a trolley.”</p><p>“I bet he’s ugly.”</p><p>“Do you think he’ll be handsome?”</p><p>“Do you think he’ll give lots of homework?”</p><p>“Do you think he’ll be nice?”</p><p>David was not immune to the curiosity that swept the school, so he did what he always did; he asked Sarah.</p><p>Their Principal had a habit of letting people wait outside his office for a good while before he allowed them to enter. In their second year, his sister had realized that the door to his office was not well made. Since then, she had taken any opportunity to deliver notes to him and faithfully told David what she’d heard through the thin wood.</p><p>“Most of it is hogwash, but I think he did go to a fancy school,” Sarah reported on their walk home.  “They kept talking about ‘impressive credentials’. That would fit, right David?”</p><p>“Yes, I think so. I’ll have to check.”</p><p>“No need to be modest,” Benny threw an arm around David’s shoulders and pulled him in to ruffle his hair. “We already know you know everything.”</p><p>“Get off!” David said as he wrestled out of Benny’s grip, cheeks burning and stomach fluttering.</p><p>Becca barked: “Boys,” sending the other three into giggles. Try as she might, Becca’s admonishments always sounded eerily similar to her mother’s. “Go on Sarah. What else did he say?”</p><p>“Not much, really. He sounds pretty normal; married, I don’t think he has kids…” she tipped her head back and scrunched her brows in thought. “Oh, and apparently he wants to try some new things when he comes—essays, I think.”</p><p>Benny groaned. “Well isn’t <em>that</em> a fun change?”</p><p>“Just what we need,” Becca agreed with Benny’s tone.</p><p>David and Sarah shot each other a look to confirm <em>yes, actually, that does sound fun, but we are not going to say that out loud.</em></p><p>Sarah was, of course, correct; Mr. Harrison was as normal as could be. Their third week of class they entered to see a somewhat tall man with neatly combed brown hair and a clean-shaven face writing on the chalkboard. He turned to see his class hovering in the door, nodded, straightened his round glasses, and did not acknowledge them again until they had settled in their chairs and he had finished writing the notes.</p><p>Presented with Mr. Harrison’s unflappable attitude and generic appearance, the rumours around his person died a swift death. The school had to once again resign itself to the fact that all of their teachers were—and always would be—some of the most boring people on the planet.</p><p>Mr. Harrison’s class, though, also had to resign themselves to the fact that he was the most demanding instructor they had ever had.</p><p>“Three pages!” Benny complained—not for the first time—as they trekked home. “Three pages of writing!”</p><p>“It’s ridiculous,” Becca agreed. “I don’t have time to write three pages. How can anyone write so much in a week?”</p><p>“Who would want to?” Benny scoffed.</p><p>Sarah just laughed at the two’s dramatics. “You’d have plenty of time if you didn’t spend half of it kvetching.”</p><p>Benny rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t rub it in. We know this stuff is a cinch for you two.”</p><p>“I bet Mr. Harrison writes how much he loves you in the margins of your essays,” Becca giggled, “<em>Oh darling Sarah, you have moved me beyond words with your words.</em>”</p><p>“<em>David, my boy</em>” Benny joined in, “<em>your mind…it is…</em>”</p><p>“<em>Incredible.</em>” The two chorused before dissolving into laughter.</p><p>David ducked his head to hide his burning face. His father had said something similar only a few weeks earlier when he was talking to Mr. Klein at shul. At the time it had made David feel proud. He didn’t think anyone else had heard.</p><p>“If you’re going to be nasty we’ll stop fixing your spelling mistakes.” Sarah threatened.</p><p>“It’s a joke, Sarah. You know what those are, don’t you?” Benny said easily. “Ask your brother if you don’t.”</p><p>Sarah scoffed. “You’re a Nudnik, Benjamin Levy.”</p><p>“Come on, <em>Sarah Jacobs</em>.” Becca flashed a dimpled smile. “You’re too serious. David knows we’re just teasing, don’t you David?”</p><p>Sarah just linked her arm with David’s as they approached the turn to part from their friends. “We’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you have some better jokes then. And, for your information, Mr. Harrison does not write such things on our papers; I will thank you to remember that.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison had actually written “well done” in the margins of David’s last essay. He did not correct his sister.</p><p>Though he would never tell anyone, David liked Mr. Harrison. Yes, he was very intimidating. And strict. But he was also patient; he let them think through their thoughts instead of trying to rush them to answers. And David really enjoyed the new assignments; they were a welcome break from the memorization and oration he had grown to loathe.</p><p>He was also <em>very</em> thankful that Mr. Harrison was not the kind to post students’ grades.</p><p>All in all, as winter rolled in, David found himself quite happy with his life. He was doing well, he had his family, he had friends, he’d only been in a few fights, and he had a teacher who seemed to—if not like him—at least not dislike him.</p><p>And so, on a brisk December day, the last thing he expected was for Mr. Harrison to dismiss the class, start wiping the chalkboard, and call “Except for you, Mr. Jacobs. I would like a word.”</p><p>It was like the world had stopped. The class went silent. David went still. Then the room erupted in hushed voices and giggles. David returned to his seat.</p><p>The room emptied. Only his sister, Becca, and Benny still hovered in the doorway. David smiled and nodded to them. They smiled back—at once apologetic and worried—before they were ushered outside with the rest of the students.</p><p>Without his classmates the classroom felt alien—rows of desks without occupants, floor dirty with dried slush. The dim winter light caught the chalk dust that hung in the air. It hung with the same anticipation David felt in his bones.</p><p>Mr. Harrison was still wiping off the board. David tried to focus on the rhythmic <em>swish-swish-swish</em> of the cloth to stop his circling thoughts. He knew why he was there. Of course he did. He wasn’t an idiot. You don’t just show up to class with your face a map of bruises and expect nothing to happen.</p><p>He had hoped nothing would happen, but that's besides the point.</p><p><em>It’s not worth it</em> Benny had tried to tell him.</p><p>He hadn’t listened. He had barely been aware of his friends and sister as he ran to where George Daniels had shoved the kid into the wall. George was only too happy to leave the kid alone in favour of returning to his old habit of beating David to a pulp. He probably would have if the butcher hadn’t turned the corner and started yelling at the group. Sarah and Benny had grabbed David and the group ran, yelling at David for his stupidity until they were far enough away from the scene to let him double over in peace.</p><p><em>You’re never going to be able to hide this</em> his sister had murmured as he’d held a mitt of snow against his rapidly swelling lip. Sarah was, of course, correct.</p><p>David should have listened.</p><p>Mr. Harrison turned away from the now blank chalkboard, tossing the rag onto his desk. He sat down in his chair and motioned for David to take the desk in front of him. David stood, crossed the room, sat, and steeled himself for the yelling.</p><p>Mr. Harrison opened his briefcase and pulled out two sheets of paper and a book. “Your essay from yesterday. You wrote this without help?”</p><p>That was…not what David was expecting.</p><p>“Yes, sir.” David confirmed.</p><p>His teacher just studied the pages, turning between the two. “Hmm.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison had a habit of humming instead of saying full words. Becca often mimicked it during lunch hour. Though he did not like that she did it, David had to admit the impression was without flaw.</p><p>He placed the paper back on the desk and held the book out. “Read a passage from this.”</p><p>David took the cue and stood to retrieve it. It was quite small and quite thick. He stood before his teacher and opened the book, careful of the fraying binding. “Any passage?”</p><p>“Yes, any passage.” Mr. Harrison agreed.</p><p>David nodded, and flipped the first chapter. The print was very small. The words looked cramped on the page. He lifted the book higher, cleared his throat, and began:</p><p>“Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not—some people of course never do—the situation is in itself delightful…” David trailed off, flicking his eyes from the page to Mr. Harrison. He was still sitting calmly, hands steepled at his lips, looking down at his desk. At David’s pause, he flicked his gaze to David and raised his brow above his glasses. David hurriedly continued: “Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime…”</p><p>Mr. Harrison returned his gaze to his desk. His eyes were unfocused, staring down with concentration beyond vision. David still felt increasingly scrutinized the further he continued. He tried to instead focus on the words and the sunny setting they were beginning to paint.</p><p>“…Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o’clock to eight is on certain occasions… a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure.”</p><p>“That will be enough.”</p><p>David snapped the book closed and placed it back on the table before returning to his chair. Mr. Harrison did not put the book away. He lowered his hands to rest on his desk. He no longer had the glazed look in his eye. His gaze was direct and discerning and focused straight at David.</p><p>“Why did you pause on that last line?” Mr. Harrison asked with a raise of his brow. “That was not in the text.”</p><p>“Sorry.” David said immediately.</p><p> “I am not asking for an apology, Mr. Jacobs, I am asking for an explanation.”</p><p>David swallowed. “I liked the wording, sir.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison leaned back in his chair, continuing to watch David with intent focus. “Go on.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“What did you like about the wording? Think it through and then tell me.”</p><p>“Well…I suppose I liked the idea that a moment can stretch beyond itself.” David said slowly. “I think the author is saying that when you are in a place and with people you are comfortable with you don’t feel limited by the time you have with them. Instead, the time you spend with them feels like it lasts forever; it feels like the sun is up longer and the shadows grow slower because you don’t even notice the world around you when you are so happy. It’s-”</p><p>David cut himself short, only realizing how loud he had gotten. He felt his face heat. It had been a long time since he had let himself talk as such outside of his home—and a very long time since he’d done it in school. Much quieter, he finished: “It’s like you’re in your own small sort of eternity.”</p><p>Benny often joked that it was easier to read German written backwards than it was to read Mr. Harrison’s expression. As he sat alone in the classroom David was not sure he had ever agreed with anyone more. </p><p>David also very much agreed with whoever wrote the book he had just read from. He wished he could tell them that moments can also stretch on forever when you are dreadfully uncomfortable.</p><p>Mr. Harrison broke his silence: “You are a very smart boy, Mr. Jacobs.”</p><p>David moved his hands to his lap to hide how much they were shaking. “Thank you, sir.”</p><p>“Have you not been told so before?”</p><p>He had, but rarely as a compliment, much less as an honest assessment.</p><p>“My parents have told me so,” David replied.</p><p>The brow was up again. “A very diplomatic answer.”</p><p>David did not know what to say to that so he did not say anything.</p><p>“You know…” Mr. Harrison leaned back in his chair again, “when I first took this roll Mrs. Howards warned me about you. She taught you in your first year, did she not?”</p><p>At the name David remembered the sting of a ruler, a snide voice hissing <em>put your hand down for goodness sakes</em>, a throbbing in his ear that wouldn’t subside, and the sick feeling of shame that he’d felt as his parents held him close and tried to help him be better.</p><p>“Yes,” he confessed.</p><p>“Hmm. She said that you were inattentive and prone to conflicts and impertinence. Mind you, she did say such traits have been corrected. Apparently, she only told me of this in case they, as she put it, ‘reared their ugly head’ in the presence of a new instructor. Seeing as I’ve never had the slightest issues with you in class, I’m curious how you managed to so successfully alienate your teacher at such a young age.”</p><p>It was said so genially, it was almost like he wasn’t laying bare everything David had spent years trying to work past.</p><p>He forced the words out through a burning throat: “I-I used to struggle to hold my tongue.”</p><p>“How so?” He asked.</p><p>“I was disrespectful. I told people if they did something or said something incorrectly. And people…um, people don’t like when you do that.”</p><p>“Ah, so you corrected others.”</p><p>“Yes.” David said to his desk.</p><p>“Did you correct Mrs. Howards?”</p><p>“…Sometimes.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison, gallingly, chuckled. “No wonder she dislikes you. That certainly explains her complaint of impertinence. And your inattentiveness, I assume, was because you were so hopelessly bored that you lost focus?”</p><p>David looked up sharply.</p><p>“There’s no need to look so shocked.” His teacher sighed. “I have been instructing you for almost five months now and I am not yet blind. It is obvious you are very bright and beyond your age requirements. Surely you know you are close to the top of the class. I’ll admit I had my doubts—it is quite unusual for someone who demonstrates near perfect comprehension in his written work to never contribute in class. And it’s even more unusual to see someone with expert spelling do so miserably in class and in school spelling bees.”</p><p>“I’m a better writer.” David tried.</p><p>He got an unamused look in return. “Mr. Jacobs, in the last spelling bee you went out on the word prudent. You tried to spell it with two o’s and an a. If memory serves, you handed in an essay just a few days before in which you correctly spelled and used the word <em>zeitgeist</em>.”</p><p>“I am a much better writer?” David tried.</p><p>Mr. Harrison continued as though he hadn’t heard. “There is also the matter of you finishing your work at about twice the speed of your peers. And, even more telling, is that you used to the flip ahead in your Literature and Oration books afterwards. As of more recently, though, I suspect you prefer to simply cast your gaze around the room since you finished those course materials at least two weeks ago.” He paused with a sigh. “You are many things, Mr. Jacobs, but you are not subtle. And I am many things, Mr. Jacobs, but I am not dumb.”</p><p>David cleared his throat. “Right.”</p><p>“Be careful of the details when you are trying to fool others.” Mr. Harrison recommended.</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind, sir?”</p><p>That almost got a smile. Mr. Harrison continued with the interrogation: “I remain quite confused about the conflicts, though. How do those come about?”</p><p>Oh, <em>that</em> was a loaded question, wasn’t it? It was a question David asked of himself quite frequently. It was a question his family asked of him quite frequently too. He decided to go with the simplest answer—the one that caused all of the conflicts that he could have avoided rather than the one that would likely continue to mark him as a target for the rest of his life.</p><p>“As I said, people don’t like when you correct them.” David said quickly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he heard the tone and wanted to sink into the floor. He settled for bowing his head and quickly adding: “Sir.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison seemed to pay it no mind. “No, I suppose they don’t. As <em>I</em> said, though, I have yet to see you do so.”</p><p>“I’ve learned to hold my tongue.” David said.</p><p>“Have you?” He asked. “Then what led to your fight with Mr. Daniels?”</p><p>David looked up, aghast.</p><p>“Mr. Jacobs,” he said with a sigh, “as we have established, I am not a fool. You came to class with a bruised cheek, a split lip, and an embittered attitude. He came with bruised knuckles and a level of overconfidence I previously thought impossible. It was not a difficult deduction.”</p><p>“…embittered?”</p><p>“To feel bitter and resentful.” Mr. Harrison defined in an absent tone.</p><p>David shrunk in his chair. “I know what it means. I just…was trying not to come across so.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison just hummed. “Did you correct Mr. Daniels?”</p><p>“In a sense, sir.”</p><p>“Did he make a mistake?”</p><p>“No.” David clarified. “He was wrong.”</p><p>His teacher once again raised a brow over his small glasses. “’Hmm. Do you consider being—or doing—wrong to be different than making a mistake?”</p><p>“Yes.” David said. “Mistakes are made against our intentions, wrong is done with poor intentions.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison paused and narrowed his eyes. “Did your father teach you that?”</p><p>“No,” David answered. “My mother taught me that.”</p><p>His teacher looked somewhat disbelieving but did not press the issue. Instead he said: “I would like to meet with your parents. What hours would be best?”</p><p>David’s blood ran cold. “Why?”</p><p>“For goodness sakes, nothing worth that expression.” Mr. Harrison huffed. “I would like to put together an advanced curriculum for you to work towards next term so that you can take the examinations to attend Barnett Preparatory Academy.”</p><p>For all David’s supposed intelligence, he could never have predicted this was what the conversation was coming to.</p><p>“Barnett Academy?” He replied dumbly.</p><p>“A private school. I attended there myself and still have good relations with one of the admissions board members. I believe you have a very good chance of getting in.”</p><p>A hysterical laugh bubbled in David’s throat. He swallowed it down.</p><p>“My family…we couldn’t afford it, sir.”</p><p>“I suspected. That is what the advanced curriculum would be for. You would be studying for two examinations: one for admittance and once for a scholarship. Neither would be too much of a trial—you are already above average in spelling, oration, and reading, and you are on track with geography. It’s just history and maths that you are lacking in, though I suspect only the latter will prove to be a challenge. How many languages can you speak or read?”</p><p>“Four, I guess-”</p><p>Mr. Harrison scoffed. “With that they may waive the Latin requirements.”</p><p>“But, sir, I don’t-” David started</p><p>His teacher interrupted: “What are your plans following school?”</p><p>David went quiet. What were anyone’s plans after school? “…To find work?”</p><p>“In a factory?”</p><p>David shrugged. “If they’ll have me.”</p><p>“You’re far too skinny to be any use in a factory.” Mr. Harrison said immediately. “And if you think this is boring, I doubt you’ll thank yourself later for submitting yourself to such drudgery. And this,” he waved his hand to gesture expansively, “this will not equip you to do anything besides that. You have potential, Mr. Jacobs. I would hate to see it squandered.”</p><p>David could only nod.</p><p>Mr. Harrison pulled his watch from his pocket. “Your parents can come here or I can meet them somewhere else. I don’t particularly care. But I would prefer to discuss this before the holidays.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Good. You may go.”</p><p>David stood on shaking legs.</p><p>It was a kind offer —too kind. It was an offer that gave David far too much credit. David was a know-it-all, the boy who couldn’t stop talking. He had words and languages, sure, but that was it. He was quick to understand but so much of what they learned was easily understood. The idea that that was a sign of intelligence—or even <em>potential</em>—was laughable. As was the idea that David Jacobs could ever attend Barnett.</p><p>Mr. Harrison spoke of the school as though David must have never heard of it. David knew Barnett. David knew the stone building that was taller than his tenement building; he knew the imposing arched façade with smooth columns. It was a fortress more suited to an empire than an academy. If he closed his eyes, he could envision the crest carved into the stone block at the wrought iron fence. Becca had convinced them to walk to it only a few months prior. She had wanted to confirm it was the same crest that had adorned the jackets of the boys who had run from the smashed windows of the Finley’s flower shop. It was. It hadn’t been a far walk there but it took an age to walk back. Barnett Academy stood only miles from David’s home and a world away.</p><p>He couldn’t…he didn’t even know what to say to any of this.</p><p>His thoughts swirled as he grabbed his things. There was no way his parents would agree to this with everything going on. And, advanced curriculum or not he could never test high enough to get admitted, much less get a full scholarship. He’d be leaving behind…so much…</p><p>But one thought was loudest.</p><p><em>I could get out of here</em>.</p><p>Because, God, <em>God</em>, David wanted to. He was so tired of throwing his grades to avoid being beaten. He was tired of never speaking in class for fear of ridicule. He was tired of listening to teachers explain things he understood months earlier. He wanted to learn more. He wanted to <em>think</em>. He wanted to fulfil his parent’s dream of a college education. He wanted to <em>try</em>. But at what cost? His friends? His family? His sister?</p><p>David paused as he reached the doorway. He turned back around. His fingers worried the strap of his bag. “Sir…this school…could my sister also take the tests?”</p><p>Mr. Harrison looked up, confused: “Your sister?”</p><p>“Yes.” David said quickly, though he could not meet his teacher’s eyes. “Sarah Jacobs. You’ve seen her work. She’s brilliant. She’s a hard worker. If we did the same program than we could share our materials-”</p><p>“You misunderstand me. I know your sister. And, yes, she is very bright, but I am afraid this opportunity cannot extend to her. Barnett is an all-boys school and I do not have the contacts to help her attend a finishing school.” David was surprised to hear genuine sympathy in his tone. “And to be perfectly frank I doubt she’d find much intellectual stimulation in one anyways.”</p><p>“Oh.” David said quietly. He steeled himself and tried again. “Could…would my brother be able to take the tests?”</p><p>“A brother too? How old is he?”</p><p>“He’s only two.”</p><p>“Well then, if I am still here, I will keep an eye out for another Jacobs boy. That is all I can offer. Any other siblings I should take into account?”</p><p>David grimaced, only then realizing how he must have sounded. “No, sir.”</p><p>Mr. Harrison did not seem annoyed, though. He cracked a rare wide smile. The expression made him look older—fine lines appearing at his eyes and on his cheeks with the motion—but he also looked much kinder.</p><p>“You needn’t apologize. There are worse things than trying to find opportunities for one’s family. However, you may want to be more cautious in the future.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Off you go then. Catch up with your friends and sister.” He said with a wave of his hand. “I wouldn’t want to impede on the Levy, Finley, <em>and</em> Jacobs households through one conversation.”</p><p>David nodded and all but sprinted out of the school. As soon as he threw open the door his sister rushed to meet him.</p><p>“What happened? Are you okay? What did he do? I knew he was no good.”</p><p>“I’m okay.” He put his hands on her shoulders. By her expression she could probably feel the nervous tremors that were still running through his body. “Really.”</p><p>“You’re telling us everything on the way home.” Becca called out from where her and Benny were waiting at the bottom of the steps. “Now come on. We’re already going to be late and I’m freezing.”</p><p>David looked down at the friends he only had because of a hurt that would never be mended and felt shame grow in his stomach.</p><p>“There’s not much to say.” David lied. “He just wanted to ask about my injuries.”</p><p>“Huh.” Benny said. “I would not have pegged him as a busybody. What did you say?”</p><p>“Tripped and banged myself up on the fall.” David replied, reciting the excuse he’d given to his parents.</p><p>“You should have just told him.” Becca huffed as she pushed her long dark hair away from her face. “I’d love to see Georgie-boy knocked down a few pegs.”</p><p>“Call him that to his face; that would do it.” Sarah said carelessly. Her eyes were boring into David’s head, though. He nodded slightly—he would tell her the truth later.</p><p>“Well come on then.” Benny sighed. “Our parents are already going to kill us for being late and we don’t even have a good story for it. Wanna race, Becca?”</p><p>“You’ll slip.” Sarah warned.</p><p>“Part of the thrill.” He said before tearing off down the road.</p><p>“No fair!” Becca yelled, sprinting after her cousin. She waved as she ran off. “See you tomorrow!”</p><p>David waved back even though she wasn’t looking.</p><p>Sarah poked his cheek. David glared at her. She smiled, unrepentant. “Go on.”</p><p>David took a deep breath and did.</p><p> </p><p>..........</p><p> </p><p>As promised, Sarah waited until supper to breach the subject.</p><p>Family meals remained an institution in the Jacobs household. No matter how tired his mother was after her long days at home or how sore his father was after his long days at the factory, the five of them ate together. If there were stories to be told it was done at the table.</p><p>So Sarah waited patiently until after their mother finished answering Les’s series of half-formed questions about potatoes to set down her cutlery and announce “David has some news.”</p><p>“Oh?” their mother asked.</p><p>“Oh…” David cleared his throat. “Yes?”</p><p>Pop smiled. “Well, don’t leave us in suspense. What is it?”</p><p>“Um…” he started. He put down his fork and looked down at his plate. “I met with Mr. Harrison after class. He would like to meet with you both before the holidays. He said he could come here or you could go to the school.”</p><p>His mother paused in bringing her glass to her lips. “What for?”</p><p>David swallows once, twice, and says: “He wants to talk about me applying to Barnett Preparatory Academy.”</p><p>His mother set down her glass. His father lowered his fork and knife. Even Les paused his attempts to spear a chunk of potato.</p><p>His mother cleared her throat. “I believe I know it. It certainly seems…prestigious.”</p><p>
  <em>Expensive.</em>
</p><p>“Yes.” He agreed. “He wants me to do a scholarship test.”</p><p>”I did not think they had scholarships,” his father mumbled.</p><p>”They must if there is a test for it.” Sarah said.</p><p>Their mother did not even reprimand her. She was staring down at the table.</p><p>“Well.” She said. Her fingers worried her glass. “There is a lot to think about.”</p><p>David nodded. “And I would be the only one taking the test. It’s silly, really.” He sent an apologetic look to his sister. “You’re just as smart as I am, if not smarter. You should be the one going.”</p><p>“What?” Sarah said on a laugh.</p><p>“It’s an all-boys school,” David explained, “and Mr. Harrison said he didn’t know anyone at a girl’s school.”</p><p>“Why did he say that?”</p><p>Oh, David had forgotten to mention that. “I asked if you could take the test too.”</p><p>Sarah looked dumbstruck. “Really?”</p><p>“Of course,” David said. “I’m sorry you can’t. I mean, you’d definitely get in if they let you-”</p><p>His words were cut off as his sister flung herself onto him, squeezing with all her might. He narrowly saved his glass from spilling.</p><p>“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you-” She repeated into his shoulder.</p><p>“What?” Les demanded.</p><p>Their father chuckled. “Sarah, dear, maybe we could hug your brother when there is less of a chance of ruining the table?”</p><p>She held on tight.</p><p>David smiled into her hair and  returned the embrace. “You don’t have to thank me, Sarah.”</p><p>“Why are you hugging?” Les demanded again.</p><p>“Because he’s wonderful.” Sarah explained. She let him go with another squeeze.</p><p>David looked back across the table. His mother was watching him. At his attention she gave him a small smile.</p><p>“I probably won’t get it.” He quickly tried to assure her.</p><p>“But you want to try.” Sarah asserted.</p><p>David did not deny it.</p><p>His parents exchanged a complicated look. The years and intercontinental travel had equipped them with an expansive silent language. David could only guess their concerns.</p><p>He didn’t know if they knew about the Finley’s store—the four of them had agreed not to tell their parents, not wanting to make that time more difficult. Even without that knowledge, though, they knew that Barnett housed different company and different expectations. They knew better than David what those expectations and that company would mean. He wondered if they felt the same thrill at what it <em>could</em> mean.</p><p>His father picked up his knife and cut himself a piece of potato. “Do you know if he would be available Thursday evening?”</p><p>“Thursday would be good.” Esther agreed. She took a sip of water. “I was going to make the bread on Thursday.”</p><p>David ducked his head to hide his smile. “I can ask him tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>..........</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>April 4, 1892</strong>
</p><p>David took the test in March.</p><p>The acceptance letter came before the end of the month. He was confirmed for the scholarship a week later.</p><p>Barnett agreed to fund his attendance. His uniform and supplies were to be paid for by the Jacobs. With the books, paper, inks, and clothes, David cost his family over $11.00—as much as rent for the month. David couldn't sleep the night he found his mother’s worried calculations.</p><p>David did not realize how expensive it would be.</p><p>He did not realize how much this opportunity would cost.</p><p>The minute he saw the two of them at the end of the block he knew they knew. He didn’t know how they found out. Maybe it didn’t matter. They turned in unison. They looked similar as ever; same brown curls, same high cheekbones, same rosy complexions, and same expressions of absolute betrayal.</p><p>Becca marched towards him. As she got close, he had a split second to register the tear tracks on her cheeks and her rising hand.</p><p>
  <em>SLAP.</em>
</p><p>The crack rang through the street. It wasn’t the hardest he had ever been hit but it stung more than any other hit he received.</p><p>A shove sent him to the ground. He didn’t get up. He only raised his head high enough to see her shoes. They were still stained with the dirt that used to litter the floor of her family's store. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to the days when the cousins would come into shul smelling of flowers. He didn’t want to look into her eyes.</p><p>Her voice was choked but her fury was clear: “You’re a selfish bastard, David Jacobs.”</p><p>She turned on her heel. David dared to look up. As Becca came back to his side, Benny put a protective arm around her and steered them off towards the school. He didn't even look at David.</p><p>Sarah helped him up and dusted off his jacket. Her lip trembled.</p><p>When he’d first confessed to the truth of the conversation she had tried to comfort him. <em>They could never hate you. They know how much this would mean, how much you need this.</em>  
</p><p>“You didn’t deserve that.” She asserted.</p><p>“It’s okay, Sarah.” He replied in a voice as empty as he felt. “It’s okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The book David reads from is <em>The Portrait of a Lady</em> by Henry James. It was published as a book in 1881.</p><p>Barnett Preparatory Academy is made up. It is very roughly based on New York's Collegiate School and Trinity Academy.</p><p>Nudnik is a Yiddish insult for someone that is a pest, specifically a boring or uninteresting pest. I do not speak Yiddish, though, so this is based on frantic googling.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Boychik: June 12, 1893</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again. Thank you for the kudos and comments!</p><p>This chapter fought me a lot but it is done. At this point I’m not sure if I can claim quality, but I can claim victory.</p><p>No additional warnings for this chapter, but you can play spot the offhand reference to a major American historical event if you feel so inclined.</p><p>Translations are in the end note</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Boychik</strong><em> n. </em> Boy, young man [English boy + Eastern Yiddish: טשיק, -chik, diminutive suffix (from Slavic)]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>June 12, 1893</strong>
</p><p>The Jacobs twins took one look at their mother’s dark circles and told Les that they were going to go to the park for the day. Sarah grabbed a blanket, a jar of water, and a few slices of bread. David grabbed half of their mother’s mending and their brother.</p><p>“Why is Mama not coming?” Les asked as they made their way down the narrow stairs.</p><p>“Mama’s going to make sure no one tries to take over the house while we’re gone.” Sarah said.</p><p>Les nodded morosely. “Like pirates.”</p><p>“Yes.” Sarah agreed, shooting David a wry look over their brother’s head. “Like the dreaded New York pirates.”</p><p>In hindsight, David probably should not have started reading him <em>Treasure Island</em> before bed.</p><p>It was, thankfully, a good day to go to the park. The sky was a clear blue that they rarely had the chance to see through the smog. The few clouds on the horizon barely peaked out from behind the tall buildings, and only a few wisps dappled the space above the skyline.</p><p>The warm day also seemed to spur good feelings. The cars traveled at leisurely speeds and slowed further for pedestrians. Passersby smiled and waved at Les’s cheerful greetings. Even Mrs. Westover seemed in somewhat higher spirits, with her cane remaining firmly on the ground instead of whacking those she deemed deserving of a bruised shin.</p><p>The newsboy on the corner seemed particularly boisterous in his yelling, too. David didn’t bother to listen—it was obviously the same story of the murder trial that had been dominating conversation the last few weeks of school. As the trail dragged on and held public attention, the newsboys had started to forgo the headline in favour of sharing increasingly gory details of the case.</p><p>David had heard far too much about axe wounds in the past few weeks, so they quickly made their way over to where Mr. Klein was waving to the three of them.</p><p>The warm weather also made Mr. Klein agree easily to letting them hop onto the back of his cart to shorten their walk.</p><p>“Now, don’t go talking to any strangers.” Mr. Klein said as they hopped off.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Klein.” Sarah and David chorused.</p><p>“Les, you listen to your siblings.”</p><p>Les’s responding sigh was far too aggrieved for a three-year-old. “Yes, Mr. Klein.”</p><p>“And if your mother gets fussy about me giving you a ride, you just tell her she can thank me with some of her apple jelly.”</p><p>Sarah giggled. “We’ll be sure to tell her, Mr. Klein.”</p><p>“Good girl. I’ll be back down this way around four, so if you want a ride back you need to be here by then, understood?”</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Klein.” David agreed.</p><p>“And have some fun!” The man reached down and pulled down the brim of David’s hat. “We can’t have you forgetting how to do that while you’re filling your head with all your fancy schooling, now can we?”</p><p>“Why do you think we brought Les?” Sarah asked in answer.</p><p>Les nodded. “That’s my job. I’m good at fun.”</p><p>David fixed his hat to hide his blush. “I’ll try, Mr. Klein.”</p><p>Mr. Klein huffed a laugh. “I guess that’s all I can ask. Alright, off you go.”</p><p>Off they went.</p><p>They did not go to the park often. Even if they did, though, David doubted the magic of Central Park would fade. There was wonder in seeing the forest rise between the brownstones and towers, in the sounds of the city fading the further they walked.</p><p>He was pleased that Les saw the same magic. He pulled them over every few yards, pointing at spider webs that laced a bench or a fat bee buzzing between the weeds. He dropped their hands to pick up a long twig and swung it like a sword and, when David made him put it down, trailed his hands through the leaves that hung over the path.</p><p>Sarah pointed to the gap between the bushes that David only vaguely remembered. They pushed through the foliage and off the path and into the small and undiscovered clearing. Sarah laid the blanket out in the shade of the tree and collapsed onto her back laughing. David smiled at the sight and sat down carefully beside her, moving the strands of hair that were spilling across the blanket. He pulled his mother’s patchwork out of the loose satchel he had tied and stuffed the wrapping fabric under her head.</p><p>As they worked on the patch jobs, David kept half an eye on Les, who was running around the clearing with abandon, and half an eye on Sarah as she slowly released the tension in her spine.</p><p>The summer break had not come fast enough for either of them.</p><p>Though she refused to complain, David knew it had been a difficult year; it was the first time they had ever really been apart for most of the day. He had keenly felt her absence in his classes and during lunch. She had once confessed the same feelings, though in her case it was loneliness among a crowd. Sarah had always easily found acquaintances, but her acquaintances rarely crossed her carefully constructed boundaries.</p><p>David had tried to convince her to talk to Becca and Benny, but she refused to do so until they apologized. He thought she was being ridiculous; she thought he was being ridiculous; it had been a whole thing.</p><p>David watched his sister unfurl and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.</p><p>By the time Les had tired himself out they had worked through the pile. Les collapsed dramatically beside him, and David pulled him up to lean against his legs, combing his hair back from his sweaty forehead.</p><p>His brother peered up at him. The dappled patches of sunlight that shone through the breeze-blown leaves shifted across his curious expression.</p><p>“How long has this been here?” Les asked.</p><p>David thought for a moment, but he didn’t think he’d ever been told when Central Park had been built. “Since we arrived, at least.”</p><p>“Huh.” Les tilted his head back so far it was almost in David’s lap. “But we’ve never been here before.”</p><p>“We came here when you were a baby,” Sarah said to the sky.</p><p>Les perked up. “We did?”</p><p>“Oh yes. We came to this exact spot. This is the Jacobs’s spot.”</p><p>Their brother’s mouth formed a neat little o. “It’s ours?”</p><p>“It isn’t <em>ours</em>.” David corrected quickly. “We just like this spot.”</p><p>Les’s face scrunched up in thought. “Why?”</p><p>“It’s the best one.” Sarah answered easily. “It’s off the path, so no one bothers us. The grass is even, so it is soft to sit on. The tree is large and old, so it gives good shade. It’s perfect.”</p><p>Les looked around as though to evaluate her statements. He nodded as he inspected the grass, the trees, and the weeds that surrounded them.</p><p>“Is this the oldest tree?” he asked, peering up into the branches above them.</p><p>“I don’t know, I haven’t asked it.” Sarah tilted her head towards the tree and called, “Hello there, tree, how old are you?”</p><p>Les giggled. “Trees can’t talk!”</p><p>“Oh dear. No, I suppose they can’t.” Sarah turned her head back again and closed her eyes “For the best, really, I doubt it would have anything nice to say to David.”</p><p>David looked over at her. She was smirking slightly—never a good sign. “What did I do?”</p><p>She ignored him and instead clearly directed her next comment to Les. “Your brother climbed that tree, you know. I doubt trees appreciate it when boys climb them.”</p><p>Les looked up again. “Really?”</p><p>“Well, it would be quite uncomfortable.”</p><p>“No,” Les interrupted, “I mean did David really climb the tree? It’s so big!”</p><p>“Oh yes, up to that thick branch there.” Les looked up in awe at the branch that hung directly over the three of them. “But then he fell out.” Sarah shook her head and pursed her lips. “It was quite dreadful.”</p><p>Les looked to David. “What’s ‘dreadful’?”</p><p>“Very bad.” David supplied. He half remembered the event—he definitely remembered the landing—but he wasn’t sure why Sarah was sharing <em>this</em> story-</p><p>“Oh.” Les said. “Did you get hurt?”</p><p>“Only bruised.” David comforted. “I was lucky.”</p><p>“Why did you fall?”</p><p>Ah. That was why she was sharing it. He should have guessed.</p><p>David sent her a glare but she was still happily lying with her eyes closed. She was grinning, though, so she probably knew what he was doing.</p><p>David supposed they were in too deep already; he might as well let the moment unfold. “There was a…very angry bird that did not want to share the tree with me.”</p><p>Les looked at him in confusion. “A bird?”</p><p>“A pigeon, I think. It flew right at my head. I startled so badly I lost my grip.”</p><p>“A <em>pigeon</em>?” His brother started giggling.</p><p>David poked him with mock indignance. “Are you laughing at me?”</p><p>Les shut his mouth tight and shook his head. His shoulders were shaking too.</p><p>“Is it really so funny that an angry pigeon made me fall out of a tree?”</p><p>A peal of laughter escaped from Les’s mouth. He clamped a hand tight over it.</p><p>David hoisted his brother into his lap “Laugh at my pain, will you? Well you know what we do to that, don’t you?”</p><p>“No!” Les said through his laughter.</p><p>“Oh yes.” David replied in as morose a tone as he could manage. And then he started tickling.</p><p>“Sarah!” Les cried as he squirmed and giggled. “Sarah, help!”</p><p>“Oh no.” Sarah said tonelessly through a wide smile. “The tickle monster has my brother. Whatever shall I do?”</p><p>“Nothing to be done, I’m afraid.” David replied, though he did relent his attack in favour of squeezing his brother tight. “Now what do we say?”</p><p>Les gasped for breath, his smile still bright. “I’m sorry you were so scared of a pigeon that you fell out of a tree.”</p><p>“Very good.” He released his brother to fall into his lap. “Was that so difficult?”</p><p>“Easier than holding onto a branch.” Sarah answered for him.</p><p>David grabbed a twig. Les once again burst out laughing at the affronted noise their sister made when it bounced off her forehead.</p><p>..........</p><p>It was the best day they’d had in a while, so none of them were watching the horizon.</p><p>David had just joined his sister in lying back on the blanket, so he saw the shift. He saw as the wind grew strong enough to turn the leaves, a wind that brought with it the scene of moisture and ozone.</p><p>The clock tower rang three times. They didn’t have time to wait until Mr. Klein returned.</p><p>They were barely twelve blocks from the park by the time the rain started. Nineteen blocks and it was falling sideways. Twenty blocks and it was falling in sheets.</p><p>Lighting flashed in the distance.</p><p>David scooped up Les and pressed his little head flush against his chest, holding his free hand over his ear.</p><p>The thunder boomed barely five seconds later.</p><p>Les flinched and whimpered at the volume.</p><p>They were almost three miles from home. It was not going to be a fun trip.</p><p>“We shouldn’t have gone out.” David called over the howl of the wind.</p><p>“It was your idea.” Sarah countered, pulling at the impromptu hood she had made in wrapping herself up in the blanket.</p><p>“It was a bad one.” He replied.</p><p>She just sent him a look. “Don’t start blaming yourself for the weather.”</p><p>David was not blaming himself for the weather. His poor planning, though, was definitely up for judgement.</p><p>The rain was falling so hard it ricocheted off the pavement. All around people were ducking into buildings or rushing with newspaper’s held open over their heads. The clouds were so heavy it felt like night had fallen suddenly and swiftly across the city. David hustled best he could, Les feeling heavier in his arms with every block. He could feel Sarah’s hand gripping his suspenders, tethered together as the rain continued to clog their lashes and obscure their vision.</p><p>“Are we there yet?” Les said into David’s ear.</p><p>“Almost.” He lied.</p><p>Two miles.</p><p>“I’m cold.” Les said quietly. It was always a bad sign when he complained quietly.</p><p>“I know, boychik.” David replied, hoping beyond hope that their mother’s affection for Les somehow transferred through her name for him and warmed him up a bit. “We’re going as fast as we can.”</p><p>Les sniffled.</p><p>Finally, David saw the blessed signs that signaled their turn. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see Canal Street in his life. Sarah must have seen it too because her hand on his back started pushing rather than gripping. They were practically running toward the corner, took a sharp turn and –</p><p>Sarah let out a string of words that made David very happy he was still holding his hand over Les’s ear.</p><p>Three men armed with shovels were desperately trying to shovel the detritus from the side of the road where it had piled. The rest of the road was flooded.</p><p>“We could still try?” David offered.</p><p>Sarah just pointed at the men. “It’s past <em>their</em> ankles.”</p><p>It was.</p><p>What a mess.</p><p>They moved to the side, ducking around the teen that was still hawking newspapers despite the downpour, and narrowly avoiding the water pouring out of the sodded-off drain pipe. They pressed back against the building., desperate for even the slightest promise of dryness.</p><p>Les finally pushed away from David’s chest, looking out in awe at the waterlogged street. David shifted him in his arms, trying to ignore how his weight and the cold made his ribs ache.</p><p>Sarah reached out. “Pass him here, David.”</p><p>He shook his head. “I’m okay.”</p><p>“You haven’t stopped grimacing since we stopped,” she huffed. “Quit being such a boy.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes but complied.</p><p>And, yes, he immediately felt better as he dropped his arms and leaned against the door of the closed shop, but he was not going to give her the satisfaction.</p><p>Until the door at his back opened sharply and flung him to the side.</p><p>“Move out of the way,” a man’s voice yelled, before a man’s weight pushed him even further to the side. David stumbled back, almost losing his balance at the momentum, and barely had time to register a voice yelling “Hey, watch out for the–” before –</p><p>Ice cold water poured over his head.</p><p>“Shit!” He was pulled roughly out from under the drainpipe.</p><p>“David!” Sarah’s face came right in front of him. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He was soaking wet and freezing. Was she really asking him that?</p><p>“What am I saying?” She took his cap off his head and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Oh, I could kill that man.”</p><p>“’fraid I get first crack there, he went and stiffed me on a pape earlier, too.”</p><p>David looked up. Without the onslaught of freezing water, he realized it was the Newsie who had pulled him out. At closer inspection he was surprisingly young—probably their age. He was much taller than both of them, though, and had surprisingly broad shoulders. The dark curly hair under his cap was plastered to his forehead, making his already prominent ears look like they were jutting straight out from the side of his head.</p><p>His hand was also still on David's arm.</p><p>The boy realized it at the same time as David, letting go and taking a large step back. “Sorry."</p><p>“No, please don’t apologize,” David said apologetically. “Thanks for helping.”</p><p>“Eh.” The boy waved his hand as if batting the gratitude out of the air. “Was nothing.”</p><p>“Geez, David, I think you may have set a new record.” Sarah twisted his cap and a fountain of water poured out.</p><p>“Nem zich a vaneh” he muttered back.</p><p>She just laughed and countered with: “Gey strashe de gens.”</p><p>“Wait, what?” The Newsie said.</p><p>David hadn’t realized he was still there. “Pardon?”</p><p>The boy’s dark brows were scrunched tight. “That Yiddish?”</p><p>David felt ice water once again pour down his spine.</p><p>“What of it?” Sarah demanded.</p><p>“Oh, no I don’t mean –” the boy raised his hands and David stayed very still “– I mean, I hope it was. I’s always glad to hear Yiddish.”</p><p>David wondered absently and possibly hysterically if it was the first time that sentence had ever been said. “You are?”</p><p>The boy put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Sure, I ain’t get to hear it in a while.”</p><p> David had no idea how to react to any of that.</p><p>“Well, Sholem-aleykhem!” Sarah finally replied.</p><p>“Sholem-aleykhem,” the boy parroted with a grin. “Where ya from?”</p><p>“We live on Baxter Street.” Les recited.</p><p>“No kiddin? That’s not far off from me.” He tilted his head to the side. “What got you out this way?”</p><p>“We went to our spot in the park.” Les answered seriously.</p><p>“Youse got a whole spot to yourself?” The Newsie whistled long and low. “Well ain’t you lucky. You on your way home now?”</p><p>“We were –” Sarah gestured to New York’s newest body of water “– but unfortunately there’s a lake in the way.”</p><p>The boy barked out a laugh. “That there is.” His gaze went funny, though, as he took in the three of them. “Hey, I’ll tell ya what—” He looked around before grabbing David’s arm and pulling him across the street to the mouth of an alley “— Here, down here, take a right, down the next two alleys, turn left, down one, turn right, sharp right and it’ll spit ya out just off Baxter. Got that?”</p><p>David definitely did not.</p><p>“Got it.” Sarah pulled the boy in by the collar and kissed his cheek. “A sheynem dank.”</p><p>The Newsie’s hand rose to hover at the spot. He looked at Sarah as though he had never seen anything like her before. In a high pitch, he answered: “Yeah, course. No problem. A dank. Always happy to help.”</p><p>He turned on his heel and ran off.</p><p>David sent his sister a look. “Really?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “Come on: down, right, two, left, one, right, sharp right, home.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes right back, but had no choice but to follow as she ducked in between the buildings.</p><p>Les peeked over Sarah’s shoulder. “Who was he?”</p><p>“He sells newspapers.” David explained.</p><p>“No, what’s his name?”</p><p>“I suppose we forgot to ask.” Sarah said apologetically. “If we see him again, we’ll ask then.”</p><p>The boy’s directions and Sarah’s memory led them true. They sprinted the last few blocks home, no longer bothering to care about the water that splashed into their shoes with their haste. They flew up the stairs of the building and pounded on the door.</p><p>It flew open to reveal their mother’s pinched expression before a sheet descended over the three of them and a strong embrace pulled them into the door.</p><p>“<em>No nie</em>! You’re drenched to the bone.” The sheet pulled back only to roughly scrub them down.</p><p>“Mama, we’re okay.” David tried to assure her.</p><p>“Do you have any idea how worried I have been?” she demanded, switching to Russian so Les couldn’t understand. She started undoing his shirt buttons, peeling where the wet fabric clung to his torso. “The house was shaking with the thunder and I saw the lightning strikes, and you were all out there in a park? With all those <em>trees</em>?”</p><p>David had hoped to give her a day to relax.</p><p>He stilled her hands as they began to shake. “Sorry, Mama.”</p><p>Her shoulders softened and she sighed. “I know you are.” She pinched David’s cheek. “And I suppose I cannot reasonably expect you to control the weather, can I?”</p><p>David smiled despite himself. His mother returned the fond expression.</p><p>“Come now, we need to dry you off before you catch your death.” She switched to Polish and pulled the laundry over from where it was sitting beside the fire. “Get out of those. You’ll never get warm while you’re wearing all that.”</p><p>David took the flannel shirt from the basket and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mama.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>David turned around to change, facing the wall as he stripped off his shirt and replaced it. He let himself revel in the feeling of warm fabric on his chilled skin before he turned as he changed out of his trousers, watching to ensure Les was obeying, too.</p><p>His mother was already on it, though, pulling Les in for a tight hug as she pulled his new undershirt over his head. “We better get you good and warm, isn’t that right, boychik? I think you might be more water than boy now.”</p><p>“Oh, he has nothing on David, Mama.” Sarah laughed as she pulled her wet hair back with a rag. “He wound up right under the drain spout.”</p><p>Esther smiled: “Z deszczu pod rynnę, hmm?”</p><p>David groaned as his sister burst out laughing.</p><p>“Mama…”</p><p>“It’s just an expression.” she said primly as she got up and poured the waiting tea into four cups. She handed them out to each of them. “Your father will be home soon, and I dread to see how soaked he will be.”</p><p>As though summoned, he burst through the door with a cry of “leje jak z cebra!”</p><p>Their mother laughed at his entrance and moved to take off his dripping coat. “I am afraid your children beat you to that revelation, Mayer.”</p><p>“Did they?” He took in their waterlogged hair. “They definitely did. Look at you all! And how is my lovely wife?”</p><p>“Dry.”</p><p>“Well, one of five is not so bad, is it?”</p><p>David watched fondly as his mother tried to discreetly kick his shin. “You should be thankful I had the tea made and the stove on. Now would you go get changed?”</p><p>“Of course, moja droga.” He said with a kiss to her cheek.</p><p>“Tata!” Les made to run to him, but David quickly put down his cup and grabbed him round the middle.</p><p>“Let him dry off, too, okay?”</p><p>Les groaned but acquiesced.</p><p>Their father just laughed before doing a double take. “David, how are you more soaked than me?”</p><p>David sighed in response. “It is a long story, Tata. And it has been a long day.”</p><p>His father smiled knowingly. “Ah, some days it is, isn’t it? Z deszczu pod rynnę, right?”</p><p>Sarah choked on her tea.</p><p>..........</p><p>For all the excitement, the evening ended as they always did. They ate together, David hung the patchwork he and Sarah had done out to dry and helped Les work through his reading. Their mother sent them off to bed and David read aloud until Les’s eyes were almost drooping, and then Sarah helped guide him through the Shema. As always, he practically slurred the last few lines, before he finally relented and curled up in his sleep.</p><p>David tested to see if he was going to let go of his hand that night. He wiggled the fingers in his brother’s grip. Les’s eyes fluttered and he let out a groan. Apparently not.</p><p>He was near sleep when his sister broke the silence.</p><p>“David?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Her next words were so hushed they were almost lost in the sound of Les’s breathing. “When are you going to tell me how you got those bruises?”</p><p>David opened his eyes. <em>Oh</em>. He shut them tight.</p><p>She had noticed.</p><p>David had hoped to give her a day to relax.</p><p>He swallowed thickly. “I’m tired, Sarah.”</p><p>Les murmured and burrowed further under the blankets between them.</p><p>“Alright,” He felt the mattress shift as she turned to face the wall. “Goodnight.”</p><p>“Goodnight.”</p><p>David took a deep breath through his tightening chest and tried to quiet the sound of blood pounding in his ears. He opened his eyes. Through the tears, the cracks in the ceiling almost looked like spider webs. He closed his eyes once more and wiped his cheeks with the hand his brother wasn’t holding. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing them in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Nem zich a vaneh: Go jump in the lake [Yiddish].<br/>Gey strashe de gens: Go threaten the geese [Yiddish].<br/>Sholem-aleykhem: Hello, but to a person you meet for the first time or you haven't seen for a long time [Yiddish]<br/>A sheynem dank: Thank you very much [Yiddish]<br/>A dank: Thanks [Yiddish]<br/>No nei: Oh no [Polish]<br/>Z deszczu pod rynnę: From the rain, straight under the drainpipe [Polish]. The equivalent of “out of the frying pan into the fire.” In this case it is also literal. Was this chapter written specifically for that joke? No. Was half of this chapter written specifically for that joke? Absolutely.<br/>Moja droga: My dear [Polish]<br/>leje jak z cebra: It is pouring as if from a bucket [Polish]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Хамство: March 5, 1896</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again. Thank you for all your continued support!<br/> <br/>Additional warnings for chapter: bullying, description of injuries, implied/referenced antisemitism.</p><p>Translations are in the end note </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Хамство</strong> (xamstvə) <em>n.</em> boorishness or audacity; the insolence and rudeness of refusing to follow societal rules [Russian; believed to be one of the most untranslatable words] </p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>March 5, 1896</strong>
</p><p>As soon as David turned the corner, he saw his brother. Even from a distance, David could see disappointment in the droop of his shoulders.</p><p>Of course the day he snapped would be the one day Sarah was sick. Of course.</p><p>His brother looked up and caught sight of him crossing the street. “You’re late! You’re so late! I’ve been waiting here forever!”</p><p>“I know,” David called, hurrying over—as if seeing his speed would make up for what a terrible brother he was. “I know. I’m so sorry, boychik.”</p><p>Les wiped his eyes roughly on his shirt sleeve and turned to start what was probably a tirade against the diminutive he believed beneath his maturity. The closer David got, though, the more horrified his expression grew.</p><p>“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”</p><p><em>Damn it</em>. David ran to his brother and dropped down, ignoring how the motion stung his knee. Les recoiled as David came to eye-level, pressing his back against the school fence. His eyes flickered across David’s figure, unable to decide which injury he should be focused on—his blackening eyes, split lip, scratched cheek, torn jacket—David was sure he looked a mess.</p><p>He had hoped Les would never see him like this.</p><p>“Hey, hey, I’m okay.” He tried a smile and felt a trickle of blood. Damn it, that had just stopped bleeding.</p><p>Les glared at him through his tears. “No, you’re not!”</p><p>“I will be. I’ll be fine Les.” David pulled his brother into a firm hug, feeling how much he was shaking in his embrace. He tried to surreptitiously dab at his lip. “This is all just- it just looks bad, it’s not <em>really</em> bad.”</p><p>Les choked on a sob.</p><p>David pulled back again and looked his brother in the eyes. “Mama will help me out when we get home, right?”</p><p>Les looked uncertain, but he still nodded, lip trembling and tears starting to pour.</p><p>“Exactly.” David said as boisterously as he could and poked his brother’s nose for good measure.  “Let’s get home, then. I think Mama said we were going to have soup.”</p><p>Les sucked in an unsteady breath. “Chicken?”</p><p>“I hope so.” David knelt down in front of Les: “Hop up.”</p><p>“Y-you said I’m t-too big.” Les accused, but he was already clambering onto David’s back.</p><p>“Well, I made you wait so I owe you,” <em>and this way you won’t keep bursting into tears when you look at my face.</em></p><p>As soon as Les had secured his grip around David’s shoulders, he sprung up with a hop. It was a move that made his sore body scream, but it also made Les giggle so he figured it was worth it. “Off we go!”</p><p>The walk from the school had never felt so long. David wasn’t sure if it was because of how sore he was or because of how heavy the looks of onlookers were. David switched to the side roads as they got closer to their neighbourhood.</p><p>It took until the deviation from their usual path for David’s prodding to finally convince his brother to start talking about his day. Even then it took some more work, but by the last block, Les was passionately describing how Martha Abbott had tripped Ada Lehrer during lunch, but Ada had carried Martha into the mud as she fell. No one was sure whether she did it by accident or with intent— “that’s a good word, did you learn that in school today?” “No, we learned that <em>last</em> week”—so they both got in trouble.</p><p>“But Ms. Graham <em>also</em> caught Matthew doodling rude pictures, so she had to have them all stand in different corners of the classroom! And none of us could get books from the shelf while Ada was standing in front of it so we just kept doing spelling until they were allowed to come back. It was horrible.”</p><p>“I’m sure it was.” David agreed. He kneeled down, letting Les slip off to climb the stairs to their tenement. “I thought you said Ada liked spelling, though. Was she cross about missing it?”</p><p>Les screwed up his face in thought. “I don’t think so. She said she just read over all the titles on the shelves while she stood there.” Les looked around as though to make sure no one was listening in. “I think Ms. Graham put her there because she felt bad for having to put her on time-out too.”</p><p>“Maybe.” David said as they arrived at the door. “Did Ada tell you if she did pull Martha into the mud on purpose?”</p><p>Les jumped up to reach the mezuzah for himself and then crossed his arms and rolled his eyes pointedly. “Ada didn’t have to tell me. I already knew she did it on purpose.”</p><p>David smiled as he opened the door.</p><p>Les raced in ahead of him, yelling: “Mom! David got in a fight!” as he went.</p><p>David leaned his head against the doorway. Okay, he definitely should have seen that coming.</p><p>It was better to get it over with. He pressed his fingers to the mezuzah and entered.</p><p>His mother was sitting at the table. Les stood beside her, pulling at her arm as she set aside her mending. She looked up and met his eye. Her face went stricken. Then it turned stony.</p><p>She rose quickly, pushing her work off the table and into the basket with a sweep of her arm. Within the blink of an eye she was at David’s side, pulling him into the house and slamming the door shut.</p><p>“Sarah. Chodź tu.” She called out.</p><p>“What’s happening?” Sarah drifted out of their parents’ room—her refuge during the past few days as her fever demanded sleep—rubbing her red nose with a handkerchief. Her eyes widened comically when she saw him. “Oh my god, David!”</p><p>Almost as fast as their mother she was on his other side.</p><p>“I’m fine.” He said as they guided him to sit at the table.</p><p>Sarah scoffed as she pushed his shoulders until he sat. “I could tell from the black eyes and the limp. God, what did those-”</p><p>“Sarah,” their mother cut in, quick and sharp. She grabbed some coins out of the change jar and pressed them into his sister’s hands. “Take your brother to go get some bandages and ice. If you see your father and Mr. Hochman, send them both here immediately.”</p><p>“I don’t need Mr. Hochman,” David tried to interject.</p><p>She just ignored him as she put the kettle on the stove. “Come back quickly. We may need Isaac.”</p><p>“I <em>really</em> don’t need Isaac.” The idea of their neighbour—his uncle in all but blood—checking him over after such a stupid fight was bad enough; the idea of Benny’s older brother coming to sew him up made his stomach churn.</p><p>“Quiet,” their mother snapped. “Sarah, Les: go.”</p><p>Sarah sent David an apologetic look but did as she was ordered.</p><p>David stared down at the table as he listened to his mother move about. The table was scared with years of use and abuse—thin lines on dark wood. David followed their tracks with his eyes, carefully not thinking about how Mr. Hochman would look at him with sorrow when he saw his bruises, or how Isaac would try to make a joke like his brother would have, or how Isaac would probably go back home and tell his family about what a state the Jacobs boy was in, and didn’t he used to go to school with Benny? Before he went off to Barnett where boys kicked him to the ground and grinded his face into the pavement as they hissed in his ear—</p><p>A tray was set down on the table and he looked up. It was laden with a bowl of steaming water, rags, various jars, and a full roll of bandages.</p><p>“Where are you hurt?” she asked.</p><p>David decided to try once more: “Mama, please, you don’t need to call anyone, I’m fine-”</p><p>
  <em>Smack.</em>
</p><p>David flinched at the noise.</p><p>His mother kept her hand where she’d slammed it against the table top as she leaned over him. “David, we have less than half an hour until your siblings return. Tell me now.”</p><p>He swallowed and began to list them off: “Cut knee, sore ankle, sore ribs, scratched hands. The rest are on my face.”</p><p>“Alright,” she acknowledged in a softer tone. “How sore are your ribs and ankle.”</p><p>“I don’t think they’re broken.” He answered.</p><p>“That is not what I asked.”</p><p>“…they hurt a lot.”</p><p>“And how deep is the cut?”</p><p>David sighed. “Deep.”</p><p>She nodded. “We must be quick.”</p><p>She held him steady as he stripped out of his trousers, gasping when the cut on his knee was revealed—long and deep and slowly seeping blood. She sat him down again and batted his hands away when he tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, instead making quick work of it herself. She pulled up his undershirt and surveyed the bruises blooming on his torso.</p><p>He had never seen her expression so empty.</p><p>She dragged the stool closer. She wet a rag with the steaming water and took the tweezers off the tray.</p><p>“This is going to hurt.” She warned.</p><p>David nodded, propped his injured leg up on the stool, and gritted his teeth.</p><p>She made quick work of it, thankfully—steady hands picking the gravel out of the wound and wiping the dirt away. She hushed him gently and murmured platitudes as her efforts drew whimpers from David’s mouth.</p><p>As she moved to his ankle, she confirmed through a sigh that they would be calling Isaac. Considering how his day had gone, David didn’t know why he bothered to feel disappointed.</p><p>She moved quickly from the cut to his ankle. David’s assessment had been correct. She simply wrapped the swelling joint tight and promised ice and elevation later. Careful prodding along his stomach and chest also confirmed his assessment of his ribs, though she still insisted that Mr. Hochman should double check—Isaac too, since he would be coming anyways.</p><p>Great.</p><p>“Don’t make that face,” she reprimanded. “We are lucky to have them. Good help is hard to find; don’t wish it away.”</p><p>“Yes, Mama.”</p><p>With a new rag she started dabbing at his face. She gently stroked the cloth along his cheek, her eyes concentrated on her work. Her tongue was sticking out a bit—like how Sarah did when she was really focused. David had not realized she got that from their mother.</p><p>Re-wetting the rag she moved to his lip, dabbing at the cut carefully. She moved to his nose, his other cheek, his eye. Her touch was feather-light.</p><p>He could barely remember the last time they had been alone together, much less this close, for so long.</p><p>She pulled the cloth away and he opened eyes he had not remembered closing.</p><p>She smiled as he blinked away the droplets on his lashes. “Now, is there anything else?”</p><p>David raised his hands to reveal his cut-up palms and wiggled his fingers.</p><p>She pursed her lips to hide a smile and took his hand, running the cloth across them softly. When the grime was cleared off, revealing only a few small scratches and some raw patches, she turned his hands over to wipe the back.</p><p>She stilled.</p><p>Her thumb traced his unblemished knuckles. “What happened, David?”</p><p>The question recalled many evenings of her cleaning him up after his classmates shoved him to the ground for correcting them. She would wipe tears from his cheeks with the same gentleness as she had when she’d wiped away the blood.</p><p>“It was just a stupid fight,” he whispered.</p><p>His mother looked up. Her eyes were hard to meet. “Fights have causes. What caused this one?”</p><p>Years that felt like decades ago, he would have quietly confessed the story. She would have comforted him on what he could not control and chided him gently about what he could do to prevent such things from happening in the future.</p><p>He knew, though, that this time was different. No matter what he did or what his mother tried to tell him, this would happen again.</p><p>His mother knew some of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think her oblivious. He was not sure what face he had made when his mother offered to invite his classmates to his Bar Mitzvah, but it was enough that she stopped asking about his friends at school. If that had not notified her, though, he suspected around his seventh week of “accidents” that she suspected something was truly wrong.</p><p>But he could not tell her.</p><p>When you love someone, you protect them.</p><p>She did not say it, but he knew his mother gave up much for their family. Even with his limited understanding, David could tell that her lacework was better than most of what was on sale in boutiques. His mother spoke at least one more language than his father—and she spoke Polish and Russian better than most of his instructors spoke English. Most of the books in the house—the old ones with fraying bindings and salt-stained covers—had <em>Zaltman</em> written in the covers.</p><p>It had only been a few days ago where, after he had generously indulged with the aid of Mr. Hochman’s shalach manos, David’s father had proudly proclaimed to the crowd that he was lucky to have snapped up the brightest girl in Poland as his bride, and kissed his wife to the hoots and hollers of their guests. Les had groaned at the affection. Sarah had laughed. David hadn’t. He didn’t think his father was exaggerating.</p><p>David knew from everything his parents did not say that they would never have left if they didn’t have to—if the fighting and danger they talked in circles around hadn’t forced them to pack what they could carry and run. They had not wanted to leave behind their promising futures to start over in a place that treated them like dirt. But they had, and they had done so with the dim hope that their children would see brighter days.</p><p>After all that, his mother couldn’t know about the slurs he’d covered with paper on the inside cover of his school books. She couldn’t know that he hadn’t gone a day without adding a bruise to his collection.  She couldn’t know how his classmates and teachers spouted their prejudice in the same tones they used to report the weather.</p><p>He was costing his family so much money and some days it felt like they were also spending what little optimism they had left to dream about his future. He couldn’t give them any sign that either expenditure was going to waste.</p><p>He thought about how James had whispered in his ear as he’d ground his face into the pavement.</p><p>
  <em>You’re only here because they felt sorry for you, Jacobs. Nothing is going to change that.</em>
</p><p>No, he couldn’t tell her.</p><p>“It was my fault,” he said instead. “I upset them.”</p><p>She searched his face. He was careful to keep his expression neutral in the face of her scrutiny. He did not know what she finally saw, but her lips pressed tight and she bowed her head once more.</p><p>She took his other hand and started wiping the dirt off. It stung.</p><p>“Don’t let it happen again.” She commanded. “You can’t let your brother see you like this.”</p><p>He nodded even though she was not looking. “I’m sorry, Mama.”</p><p>She sighed. “I know.”</p><p>Awkwardly and unsteadily she guided him to lie on bed and helped him into his pajamas. She bundled the blankets to the bottom and lifted his foot to sit elevated on the pile. She passed him his books and fluffed the pillows behind his head.</p><p>“Do your homework while we wait for the others. Would you like something to drink?”</p><p>“No, thank you.” He replied.</p><p>“Are you comfortable?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>She nodded, but still repositioned the pillows behind his head before standing. As she reached the end of the bed, she turned back to look at him once more. She hovered there for a moment as though to say something.</p><p>Perhaps more admonishments.</p><p>She must have decided against it, though. She patted the blankets beside his swollen ankle.</p><p>“Keep your foot up.”</p><p>“Yes, Mama.”</p><p>..........</p><p>David was not surprised when, that evening, Sarah reached over Les’s sleeping body to prod his shoulder and gesture to the window.</p><p>As early as they could remember, him and Sarah had used the fire escape as just that—an escape. Sometimes just from the heat of the house, sometimes from boring adult conversations. Increasingly it was to have difficult conversations without a crowd. As their father grew into an increasingly light sleeper, they had started to have the truly difficult conversations on the roof.</p><p>David knew their conversation was going to be difficult. Sarah probably did too. They also knew he wouldn’t be able to make it up to the roof.</p><p>It turned out to be significantly more difficult to climb out of a window when you couldn’t put weight on one ankle and were at risk of ripping stitches. Sarah more or less lifted him up and out onto the platform and sat him down against the brick wall. He carefully stretched out and she used the pillow she had grabbed to prop his ankle up.</p><p>She sat beside him, angled towards him for the confrontation.</p><p>“What actually happened?” she demanded.</p><p>“I told Mama.” He tried despite it's futility. “I said something stupid to some of the boys in my class and they didn’t like it.”</p><p>His sister glared at him. It was a very specific glare, one which his sister had spent almost fourteen years perfecting. It was a glare that said <em>how dare you try to lie to me</em>.</p><p>David sighed. He was not getting out of this one.</p><p>“We started doing individual tests in math class a few months ago,” he began. “The teacher will write a series of problems on the board and then we have to solve them and write the answers on the slates. We hold them up for grading and he walks around and checks the answers.”</p><p>“Why don’t you just do them on the blackboard?” she asked.</p><p>“He said he wants to assess us individually rather than just have a few of us being assessed at the same time.” David answered.</p><p>Sarah rolled her eyes to make very clear what she thought of this teaching strategy. “Alright.”</p><p>“For the last few months…a few of them have been copying my answers,” he confessed. “The ones closest to me copy my answers and then they move their slates so that a few others can see them. I think it is about six of them that do it, but I can’t really be sure.”</p><p>She gaped at him. “And you <em>let them</em>?”</p><p>Well. “…In a sense?”</p><p>“Your desks are the same as any, I assume,” she clarified, “so they must be sitting far away. Why didn’t you just move your arm or lean over and stop them from seeing it?”</p><p>He sharply remembered an arm at his throat and a punch to his side.</p><p>“That’s what I’ve been doing, but it hasn’t gone over well.”</p><p>Sarah clenched her jaw. “Alright then.”</p><p>David hastened to continue. “Look, Sarah, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not <em>fine</em>, but whatever. I’ve started to figure that I might as well let them—it’s just one class and the tests aren’t even worth much. I was going to just let them today, but…” he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, “but today they were making these comments…”</p><p>“What sorts of comments.”</p><p>He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please don’t make me say them.”</p><p>He heard her take a deep breath in. “Right. Right, of course. So they were making <em>comments</em> and you…”</p><p>“I tried to ignore them, but they followed me through the day and they kept whispering them behind me in class and I…” rage so hot it burned had coursed through his body and it was all that he could do to clench his jaw and keep walking away, to pretend he wasn’t listening, to remember how much his family had sacrificed for his education so that he wouldn’t throw it away because some rich kids thought prejudice was funny, to not turn around and punch them and keep punching them until they would just <em>stop talking</em> “…I snapped.”</p><p>Her eyes went so wide, David feared they would pop out of her head. “You lost your temper <em>in class</em>?”</p><p>“Not in the way you’re thinking of.” He took a deep breath. Then another. Then he pressed his hands to his face to cover his quickly-heating cheeks. “I wrote the wrong answers.”</p><p>You what?”</p><p>David dropped his hands and met his sister’s confused expression. “I wrote the wrong answers on my slate and at the last minute I changed my answers to the correct ones.”</p><p>Sarah looked at him blankly. Then, slowly, a smile stretched across her face.</p><p>“And how did they do on the test?”</p><p>“Ds.” David shrugged. “I couldn’t figure out how to get them lower and not have them catch on. I mean, they’re not completely dumb, so the answers had to be plausible enough that they kept copying me.”</p><p>Sarah barked a laugh and quickly covered her mouth, looking behind them to make sure Les hadn’t woken at the sound. Her shoulders were shaking with suppressed glee.</p><p>“It’s not funny,” he whined, trying to tamp down a grin of his own.</p><p>“It is,” she gasped. “That is the best thing I’ve heard in <em>months</em>.”</p><p>“It was a stupid mistake,” he corrected.</p><p>She wiped her eyes.“It was the best decision you have ever made, actually.”</p><p>“I always forget how vindictive you are.” He thought aloud.</p><p>She scoffed loudly. “Oh, come on. They deserved it!”</p><p>“Maybe, but-”</p><p>“No <em>maybe</em> about it,” she cut in, “they absolutely deserved to be knocked down for once.”</p><p>“It’s not like I don’t agree, it’s just-”</p><p>“There’s no argument against this, David. They deserved it, and they deserve so much worse and so much more!”</p><p>“Sarah, you’re making to big of a deal of this-”</p><p>“Oh really?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are these the same boys that keep grabbing you?”</p><p>He froze. “What?”</p><p>Sarah just looked at him with pity.</p><p>“David,” she said softly, “we’ve all seen the bruises. Even if we don’t see them, we’ve seen you wincing. And do you think Mama hasn’t noticed how scuffed your clothing has gotten? You’re not that clumsy, no matter what you try to tell people.”</p><p>He shook his head firmly, because they couldn’t know, his mother <em>couldn’t know</em> “Sarah, I don’t-”</p><p>“Last month, when you came home with your things all wet, you told Mama and Tata that you fell in a puddle. Did you really fall or did they push you in?”</p><p>He had suspected she hadn’t believed him, but had hoped she’d at least forgotten the incident. Swallowing his shame, he forced out: “It wasn’t a puddle. It was the fountain.”</p><p>“The fountain?” Her face was starting to turn red. “They <em>pushed you into the fountain</em>?”</p><p>“They didn’t push me,” he corrected. “They threw my bag in.”</p><p>“That isn’t <em>better</em>, David!”</p><p>“Sarah, you don’t have to get dramatic.”</p><p>“I do!” she burst.</p><p>The two went quiet to listen for movement in the home at their backs.</p><p>In a harsh whisper, she continued: “I do if you refuse to say anything. Or have you forgotten how much they yelled at you about being more careful with your things?”</p><p>“Well, I should have been!” He shot back. “I should have seen the signs.”</p><p>“What <em>signs</em>? That they were going to attack you?”</p><p>”Obviously."</p><p>Sarah threw her hands up. “They shouldn’t <em>be</em> attacking you! It shouldn’t be your responsibility to make sure you don’t get beaten to a pulp because some prissy rich boy doesn’t want to do basic maths.”</p><p>David swallowed roughly. “Well it is, so would you leave it alone?”</p><p>“No! No, I’m not going to leave it alone! These bastards are targeting you. I get to be angry about that, and you should be too!”</p><p>She didn’t know how much he wanted to. How often he had the same words ringing in his ears as he walked in the halls, as he hurried off grounds to avoid his tormentors. He called it fear, even though he knew it was the wrong name. He couldn’t call it anger; if David started being angry, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop.</p><p>“It’s barely even about me.” He tried to reason. “They’re just looking for someone to harass.”</p><p>“Then fight back! Show them you’re not just a victim.”</p><p>“This is what happens when I fight back Sarah!” He motioned to himself. “I am a victim here! That’s all they will ever see me as—the boy who only got into the school because enough people begged for his admittance.”</p><p>“That’s not true.” Sarah said firmly.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter if it is true, that’s what they think. This isn’t about <em>logic</em>, Sarah. This is about perception.”</p><p>She scoffed. “You sound like Mama.”</p><p>“Good. One of us has to be an adult about this.”</p><p>She flinched back as though he slapped her.</p><p>The words hung dangerously between them. David desperately wanted to reach out and take them back.</p><p>She sucked in a deep breath and said in a trembling voice: “I don’t want to see you hurt. Is that <em>childish</em>?”</p><p>“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head firmly, “it’s not. I’m sorry.”</p><p>She looked at him for a second before turning to look out at the city before them. In the motion the moonlight caught the tears in her eyes, sending a stab through David’s heart.</p><p>Finally, she nodded and slumped back beside him. He scooted close to her side, ignoring the surge of pain the motion caused, so that their arms pressed together, warm in the cool spring evening air. He felt the tension dissipate with each moment she didn’t move away.</p><p>Though they were only on the third floor, the view from the fire escape seemed to lay the city out beneath them. There were only a few stragglers wandering the streets at such a late hour; hurrying home, wandering aimlessly, scurrying about.</p><p>David wanted to think that they had their own stories that he would never know—that they felt as lost as he did. It would be nice to not be alone in that.</p><p>“Sarah…” the words stuck in his throat but he had to say them. “This is going to keep happening.”</p><p>Sarah sniffed and wiped her eyes roughly. “I know. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize.” She said. “Just…just promise me I’m not going to lose you.”</p><p>David laughed despite himself. It sounded bitter even to his ears. “That’s kind of a reach. Sure, they’re bastards but I doubt they’d try to kill me.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess so.” Sarah conceded. “I’m just…worried.”</p><p>“As usual.”</p><p>She bumped her shoulder against his. Though he had grown too tall for it to really work the way it used to, he rocked to the side obligingly before rocking back to bump her shoulder. The familiar motion made her smile despite herself.</p><p>She looked out again at the city, her eyes distant on the horizon. As though announcing it to the farthest reaches of New York, she spoke her next words out to the sky: “This is such a mess.”</p><p>David hummed in agreement. “But, hey—” he poked her cheek until she smiled again “—I got to learn some interesting things about France today.”</p><p>She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Tell me about France.”</p><p>He obliged.</p><p>..........</p><p>David stopped bothering to cover his test answers. He got to class early to avoid getting tripped. When they started to pin him down to copy his homework, he rarely struggled.</p><p>In a rare show of thanks, they more or less stopped hitting him in the face.</p><p>It was almost a month until the next time his classmates’ aggressions went far enough to produce significant visible damage. David carefully concealed a limp and a torn shoulder seam until he got home and pulled his sister aside. Sarah, proving herself once again to be the best person in the world, scowled rather than argued, and grabbed the sewing kit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Chodź tu: Come here [Polish]</p><p>The shalach manos David refers to was a bottle of whisky. I firmly believe that, when drunk, Mayer gets very effusive with his compliments and will not shut up about how much he loves his wife and kids. Esther gets hilariously flustered when he does so. The Hochmans are enablers.</p><p>I share this because I figured we might need a bit of levity.</p><p>Honestly, I just assumed it was a fic-writing rite of passage to beat up your favourite character.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Naches: November 14, 1898</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, as always, for the comments and kudos. As a token of my gratitude, please enjoy this chapter; it is the sappiest thing I have ever written. Remember the maple syrup heist? There is more sap in this chapter than was ever involved in that tragedy.</p><p>No additional warnings for this chapter because of the aforementioned sappiness. Well, okay, some underage drinking, but that’s it.</p><p>Translations in the end note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Naches</strong><em> n. </em> The feeling of pride and/or gratification in 1: the achievements of another(s); 2. one's own doing good by helping someone or some organization [Yiddish, נחת, nakhes, from Hebrew: נחת, naḥath, 'contentment']</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>November 14, 1898</strong>
</p><p>As soon as he was dismissed, David took off like a shot. Unlike every other day, though, his quick exit from Barnett’s grounds was an eager one.</p><p>Turning the corner to his old school, he saw his siblings leaning against the fence. Les was complaining, apparently, if his frantic hand gestures were anything to go by. Sarah was just nodding along, but looked up as David hurried across the road.</p><p>“Why hello good sir,” Sarah called in an exaggeratedly refined accent, tipping her hat.</p><p>“Good afternoon,” he replied in his own refined accent. With all his practice, he had much better affectation than his sister.</p><p>“And how are you on this fine day?”</p><p>“I am splendid. And you?”</p><p>“Bursting with contentment; thank you for asking.” She tilted her head to the side, appraising him. “Is there something different about you today? You look exceedingly distinguished.”</p><p>“And you are a picture of maturity,” he agreed before leaning in and whispering with horror: “though I fear I see some wrinkles developing.”</p><p>Her mouth dropped open and she launched herself at him. He grabbed her and pinned her against him until she stopped struggling.</p><p>Huffing for breath, smiling wide, she tilted her head back onto his shoulder to face him. “Happy birthday, David.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, Sarah.”</p><p>Les groaned loudly, catching both their attention. His head was thrown back in anguish. “You already did this. <em>Twice</em>. It’s not like you’re going to <em>forget</em>.”</p><p>David released his sister as she stood to her full height with her hands on her hips. “How dare you talk to your elders with such a tone, young man.”</p><p>“You’re insufferable.”</p><p>“And the <em>language</em>. David, did you teach him that?”</p><p>“I don’t know where he gets it from.”</p><p>“<em>Oh. My. God.</em>”</p><p>David took off his brother’s hat and ruffled his hair. “Yes, you put up with so much.”</p><p>Les snatched his hat back and stuffed it on his head. “Well, if you wanted to make it up to me, you’d let me have your slice of cake.”</p><p>David smiled. “Not a chance, but nice try.”</p><p>“We’ll work on your bargaining skills, boychik.”</p><p>“Would you stop calling me that?” he whined.</p><p>“You never complain when Mama calls you that,” Sarah pointed out.</p><p>Les sent her a withering look. “Of course not.”</p><p>She raised her hands in surrender.</p><p>“Come on,” David said, starting them on their path home. “We don’t want to be late.”</p><p>“It would be your fault,” Les said, though he was already following.</p><p>“What kept you?” Sarah asked, looking him over with concern.</p><p>He shook his head. “Mr. Stuart needed to speak with me after class.”</p><p>“I don’t get why teachers need to talk with us <em>after</em> class,” Les muttered. “They already talk at us all day.”</p><p>“Trust me, Les, it is far worse when they try to talk with you in front of the class.”</p><p>“Sarah, have you been getting into trouble since I left?” David checked.</p><p>“I’m speaking from observation.”</p><p>“What did he wanna talk about?” Les interrupted.</p><p>“He just wanted to confirm that I would be able to get to the Museum in time for the class tour next week.”</p><p>Sarah made a face. David did not, but he certainly appreciated her empathetic disgust—Mr. Stuart had “checked in” with him at least three times a week since the trip was announced.</p><p>“Was he mean about it again?” Les asked.</p><p>“He has never been <em>mean</em> about it, Les.” He’d been exceedingly <em>rude</em>, but that was different, wasn’t it?</p><p>“Uh huh.” Les narrowed his eyes. “What did he say?”</p><p>“He wants to make sure I have a solid background before the tour,” David said. “He’s given me one of his books on Medieval art. I’m to write a summary on the first three chapters.”</p><p>His siblings made nearly identical expressions of disbelief, but it was Les that said: “That’s stupid.”</p><p>David sighed. “And <em>that</em> is not a nice thing to say.”</p><p>“It’s true.”</p><p>David looked across to Sarah for support. She pointedly looked ahead.</p><p>Ugh. Fine.</p><p>He decided that the discussion around navigating class-based prejudice could wait for another day.</p><p>“Well, I like writing and now I have a new book to read.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye he saw Sarah turn to give him a look over their brother’s head. He ignored it; see how she liked it.</p><p>“Did you tell him it was your birthday?” Les asked. “Last year Ada convinced Eddie that he had to sweep the classroom for her because it was her birthday.”</p><p>“I don’t think Mr. Stuart is as gullible as Eddie, Les.”</p><p>“Oh, I know; no one is.”</p><p>David bit back a smile. “That is also not a nice thing to say.”</p><p>“It’s also true,” Les said, “and Tata says honesty is important.”</p><p>“Yes, he does,” Sarah agreed, “but he was referring to owning up to mistakes and admitting to wrongdoings.”</p><p>Les grinned. “Well, he should have been more specific.”</p><p>Sarah laughed. “It is good to see you already have a strong foundation for your negotiation lessons.”</p><p>..........</p><p>Upon entering their home, the three Jacobs siblings let out loud sighs; the heat from the stove was a welcome relief to their wind-chapped cheeks. David loved a lot of things about their neighbourhood—the people, the deli on the corner, the fairly even sidewalks—but he did not love that it caught every gust of wind off the East River.</p><p>As they peeled off their layers, Sarah called out into the apartment: “Mama, jesteśmy w domu.”</p><p>“Bagrisn heym,” she replied in Yiddish, “Mrs. Hochman is here.”</p><p>“Hello, Mrs. Hochman,” Sarah called back in the same language—they always spoke Yiddish when the Hochmans were over, as the pair did not understand the Jacobs’s usual Polish—hanging her coat on the hook. “How are you doing today?”</p><p>“I am well, thank you.” She came to meet them at the door and held her arms open. “May I give the birthday boy and girl their first presents?”</p><p>Sarah took off her second boot and ran to meet the embrace. David watched fondly as Mrs. Hochman leaned her head over Sarah’s shoulder and said something into her ear that made Sarah giggle and squeeze her tighter.</p><p>She pulled away, her hands still on Sarah’s shoulders, looking her up and down. “Oh, you really have become such a beautiful young woman.”</p><p>Sarah ducked her head and smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Mrs. Hochman.”</p><p>She smiled back, tucking a stray bit of hair behind Sarah’s ear. She turned to face him then, and said, “Now, David, don’t keep an old woman waiting.”</p><p>Sarah laughed. “Mrs. Hochman, I don’t think you can reasonably call yourself an <em>old woman</em> yet.”</p><p>“Image of your mother, but that attitude is all Mayer,” she huffed, pinching Sarah’s cheek. “I will call myself what I like. You come find me when the children you used to swing in your arms turn sixteen and sprout up like weeds before your eyes; then we will talk.”</p><p>“Sorry, Mrs. Hochman,” he said, crossing to meet her and letting her pull him into a hug.</p><p>“I would think so,” she said into his chest. She pulled back and looked up to him. The years had etched fine lines around her thin face and shot her blond hair through with grey, but her eyes were still the same clear blue. “Oh, you are far too tall. Who is to blame for that, Esther?”</p><p>“That would be my father’s fault,” she replied.</p><p>“Though only God is to blame for him shooting up to such a height in one summer.”</p><p>David turned to see his father and Mr. Hochman coming in through the door.</p><p>Mr. Hochman laughed at the comment. “You ought to be grateful, Mayer. You’ll never need to use that rickety stool to reach the top shelf again.”</p><p>“Very true,” his father agreed. As soon as he had toed off his shoes, he grabbed Les around the middle and carried him further out of the doorway. “Now how about we enjoy the meal your mother spent all day on?”</p><p>“Well, if someone could set the table…”</p><p>“Yes, Mama,” David said, pulling the plates down from the shelf.</p><p>“Lesham, are you letting your brother set the table on his birthday?”</p><p>“Tata, I can’t reach the plates.”</p><p>“Here.” David passed his brother the plates to interrupt the playful bickering. “You take these and I’ll get the cutlery.”</p><p>“Don’t forget the cups,” Sarah called.</p><p>“You have hands,” Les called back.</p><p>“It’s my birthday.”</p><p>David coughed to cover his laugh.</p><p>“No yelling,” their mother said. “Sarah, are you getting the table cloth?”</p><p>“Of course, Mama.”</p><p>Dinner—usually a time for recounting the day’s stories—was an event of remembrance that evening as the adults cheerfully recounted stories of the two in their youth. Their brother listened attentively, while Sarah and David alternated between laughing, clarifying, defending themselves, and trying to slide under the table in embarrassment. The adults paid little mind to what they did. Their audience was clearly each other, though they were obviously eager to tell Les all about the twins’ exploits before he came along.</p><p>As their mother, Mrs. Hochman, and Les cleared the table, their father re-filled the glasses. The three returned to the table and their father stood and began his speech:</p><p>“Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate our wonderful children—well, two of them at least. David, Sarah; words cannot describe how much we love you both, but I’m afraid I must try. You both have been adults in the eyes of God for years now, but I’m afraid it wasn’t until David could see the top of my head that I really began to appreciate that. You continue to make me the proudest father in New York—and, I would wager, prouder than any father in Poland too. Perhaps in the world. Tonight, we celebrate all you are and all you are bound to become.” He raised his glass to the two of them. “Mazltov tsu dayn geboyrn-tog!”</p><p>“Mazltov!” chorused the table.</p><p>Their mother cleared her throat. “Now, do we want dessert or presents first?”</p><p>“Presents,” Les answered immediately. “Please say presents.”</p><p>“Oh, very well.” Sarah ruffled his hair. “We can do presents first. Mama, where did you put my–?”</p><p>“I will get them both,” she said, already standing up and going into hers and their father’s bedroom.</p><p>David pressed down a grin—he’d kept it together for months, there was no way he was ruining the surprise now.</p><p>Their mother returned to the room with a small pile she placed on the stool beside her chair.</p><p>“You two exchange last,” his father demanded. “Here; from your mother and me.”</p><p>He passed a thin cloth-covered box towards Sarah, and then slid a flat wooden box towards David. David unfastened the metal clasp and swung the lid open.</p><p>“Oh, good, you were getting scruffy,” his sister said as she leaned over his shoulder to see the shaving kit.</p><p>Their father laughed. “Oh, shush you. The day is fast approaching— I was about your age when I started and your mother’s brothers were within a year of me. It is only a matter of time.”</p><p>“Thank you.” David said.</p><p>“Of course. Now, Sarah, go on then.”</p><p>Sarah lifted her box up and opened it. She gasped, one hand fumbling to hold on while the other flew up to cover her mouth. “Are you–?”</p><p>Their mother nodded with a smile.</p><p>Sarah tilted the box to show him the ornate gold brooch with a single pearl in the center. David vaguely remembered lifting Sarah up to admire it in their mother’s jewelry box when they were very little, and definitely remembered their mother scolding them for using it as “bounty” when playing pirates around the house.</p><p>“It is only to be worn on <em>very</em> special occasions,” their mother asserted.</p><p>“Yes,” Sarah said immediately “Yes, yes of course. I– <em>thank you</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, goodness.” Their mother blinked fiercely.</p><p>“Alright, before you finally break your mother’s composure…”</p><p>“Georg–”</p><p>“I kid,” Mr. Hochman said, raising his hands in surrender before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out four dollar bills and slid them across the table. “Spend them wisely.”</p><p>David and Sarah reached out to take them, but David at least felt a little dizzy doing so. “Mr. Hochman…Mrs. Hochman we can’t–”</p><p>“Are you about to refuse a present, David?” his father interjected with a smirk.</p><p>“I–” he tried to find the words and found all but two absent. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You are most welcome.”</p><p>Their mother passed Les something under the table. He reached underneath, and lifted up two small pouches that rattled when he set them on the table. Sarah grabbed the peach one, leaving David the blue one. She opened it and laughed.</p><p>David opened his: penny candy.</p><p>“Where did you get this?” he asked.</p><p>Les’s shrug was nonchalant, but he was already starting to blush. “Loft’s.”</p><p>Sarah laughed. “You know, we somehow managed to figure out you bought them at the <em>only</em> candy store we can walk to. Stop being coy. How did you manage this?”</p><p>Les’s lip twitched and he shrugged again, though this time the gesture held smugness and embarrassment. “Mr. Finley needed some help setting up the new shop. I helped.”</p><p>David smiled and ruffled his hair. “Thank you, Les.”</p><p>Les pushed David’s hand off and blushed harder. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p>While David had successfully distracted Les, Sarah had gotten up and over to their brother. She reached around his chair and pulled him in for a tight hug, resting her chin on his head. “You are the sweetest brother in the world.”</p><p>Les groaned and squirmed in her hold.</p><p>Their father chuckled. “Set him free.”</p><p>She did so, bouncing back to her seat. Les tried in vain to fix his hair before giving up.</p><p>“Alright.” David felt something nudge his leg. His mother nodded at him and he reached under to grab his present for his sister. “Go ahead, David.”</p><p>He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching wide across his face as he passed her the book.</p><p>She took it gently, looking at him with questions in her eyes. He nodded for her to go ahead. She untied the velvet ribbon and folded it carefully, placing it on top of the candy pouch. She ran her hand down the spine and flipped it open carefully.</p><p>The room was silent as she read the inscription on the inside cover, mouthing the words slightly. David knew the moment she had finished, because the little furrow between her brows got deeper. She flipped to the next page. And then the next. And then the next. Her eyes went wide.</p><p>It had taken three months, but a quarter of the pages in the small journal were filled with carefully written passages, facts and figures, and poems. For three months, his parents had sent him out to “pick up flour” or “deliver letters”. Those evenings he would make his way to Bond Street and would hurriedly do his homework in the reading room before ransacking the shelves. David went through book after book—ones he knew his sister enjoyed and ones the librarians recommended—and transcribed the words of others in the hopes that they would also convey how much he loved her.</p><p>He had lamented to his father how he wished he’d had the idea earlier—even two months earlier and he might have gotten half of it filled. His father had just ruffled his hair, reminding him how much fun Sarah would have writing in the rest.</p><p>His sister’s gaping expression was a much better comfort than his father’s words. “How did you–?”</p><p>“The library,” he answered.</p><p>“But they’re always so <em>cross</em>.”</p><p>“Once I told them what it was for, they were more than happy to help.” David smiled at the memory of four grown women cooing over the small journal, asking an endless barrage of questions about his sister’s preferences and person. “We should go back sometime—they want to meet you.”</p><p>“When did you do this?”</p><p>“In the evenings,” David confessed. “I thought you’d figure it out eventually—I think I’ve gone on more <em>errands</em> in the past few months than I have in my life.”</p><p>David expected Sarah to smile. Maybe she would laugh at his efforts, or be impressed that he had managed to keep a secret for so long. He was not expecting her to go very red and glare at their parents.</p><p>“You <em>knew</em>?”</p><p>David looked over to them as well, though he was sure his expression only held confusion—he didn’t really understand why Sarah was so upset about them helping him keep a secret; that was sort of a given with presents.</p><p>Their father was smiling wide and unrestrained. Their mother’s hand was over her mouth.</p><p>“How about you give David your present, Sarah?” She passed over the last parcel beside her and stood, lips twitching all the while. “I will go get the cake.”</p><p>David had no idea what was going on.</p><p>Sarah passed him the present wrapped in newspaper and twine, face red, not meeting his eyes, and then folded her arms on the table and put her head down on them. “Go ahead.”</p><p>Everyone was smiling now.</p><p>He undid the twine and folded back the paper. It was a bag—clearly old and well worn, but in good shape. The leather was good quality and far beyond the Jacobs’ strictly controlled budget.</p><p>“How did you–?”</p><p>Sarah shook her head without raising it. Into the table she mumbled: “It’s Mr. Klein’s old bag—and before you say anything, he was happy to give it to you. Just…open it.”</p><p>David did so and gasped.</p><p>The inside flap was almost filled with embroidery—loops and dashes and lines combining into filigree leaves, ornate patterns in rich dark blue, all circling the words at the center of the design.</p><p>Almost unconsciously, his fingers traced them.</p><p>
  <em>Carpe Diem.</em>
</p><p>“You circled it in your Latin book three times.” He looked up. She was sitting up again, cheeks red but smiling. “I figured it was important.”</p><p>He gaped at her. “This must have taken <em>weeks</em>.”</p><p>She nodded, her mouth twitching. “I had to ask Mama and Tata to help get you out of the house.”</p><p>Les snorted and that was enough for David to finally slot the pieces together.</p><p>“Oh no.”</p><p>She nodded gravely. “Oh yes.”</p><p>“At least now you can stop trying to sneak around each other,” Les said. “It was embarrassing to watch.”</p><p>Their father choked on his drink.</p><p>Mr. Hochman chuckled, too, as he swiftly patted their father’s back as he coughed. “Now, Les, it’s their birthday. At least wait until tomorrow to tell them the hard truths.”</p><p>Mrs. Hochman lost her battle for self control and burst into giggles.</p><p>David felt his face growing hot and turned to his sister. Her head was back on the table.</p><p>Their mother came back in with a tray laden with small plates and a large gingerbread cake. She placed it down and stood behind Les’s chair, brushing his hair back. “Boychik, be kind. It is the first time they’ve tried to keep a secret from each other. The first time doing something is always difficult.”</p><p>Their father, only just having recovered his breath, once again succumbed to laughter.</p><p>“Mama,” Sarah whined, raising her head slightly. “Don’t encourage him.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” their father said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Honesty is always the best policy.”</p><p>“And you have no one to blame but yourselves,” their mother added, then turned to Les with a smile. “You were a very sweet child before those two took you under their wing.”</p><p>“I don’t think we can take full credit for his quick thinking.” David said.</p><p>Les, still looking far too pleased with himself, agreed: “I come by it naturally.”</p><p>Their mother laughed brightly and squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>“Happy birthday, you two,” Mrs. Hochman said, wiping her eyes.</p><p>“Happy birthday," the rest of their family chorused.</p><p>..........</p><p>Later that night, Sarah and David crept up to the roof to exchange their other present—one they had not kept secret from each other, but had kept secret from everyone else.</p><p>Sarah took another drink of whisky as she moved onto the next passage.</p><p>“<em>Hark!</em>” she recited, “<em>through the quiet evening air, their song floats forth with wild sweet rhythm and glad refrain. They sing the conquest of the spirit strong, the soul that wrests the victory from pain; the noble joys of manhood that belong to comrades and to brothers.  In their strain rustle of palms and Eastern streams one hears, and the broad prairie melts in mist of tears.</em>” Sarah set aside her new book, “ugh, I love her.”</p><p>“Already?”</p><p>“David, sometimes you only need to read one poem to know that you are going to love someone’s work for the rest of your life,” Sarah assured him. “And this? This is a woman whose work I would read for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“Oh really?”</p><p>“I could be lost in the desserts of Texas with only this poem as my guide and I would die content,” she said seriously. “I want to build a monument to this poem, David.”</p><p>He smiled at his sister’s dramatics, exaggeratedly reaching for the bottle. “And I think we have had enough.”</p><p>“Oh, we are far past that,” she said, and took another drink, grimacing. “I don’t think I actually like this.”</p><p>“Next year we’ll try rum.” He agreed, actually grabbing the whisky and taking a swig of his own.</p><p>“You’re so smart, David,” she teased. The alcohol seemed to make her looser, her smile stretching lazily, giggles lacing her every word. “How did you get so smart.”</p><p>“Lucky, I guess,” he replied. “You’re smart too.”</p><p>“Huh. We’re <em>both</em> very smart. Who’da thought?”</p><p>The alcohol was also bringing out all of their accents—the dropped R’s of the Manhattan streets bleeding into their speech. They hadn’t started to slur and they hadn’t started slipping between languages, but it really was just a matter of time at the rate they were going.</p><p>“If we were smart, we would not be doing this on a Monday night.” He pointed out.</p><p>She waved the thought away. “We’ll be fine. Do you have a test tomorrow?”</p><p>“No, I do not,” he said. “Though I’m curious how you plan to explain your headache to your little charges.”</p><p>“I will just say ‘girls, Miss Sarah is a little under the weather today so we are going to practice our handwriting and penmanship’ and they will be happy because it is not math.”</p><p>David couldn’t help but laugh at the image that produced—the five young ones all sitting in their desks, carefully practicing their letters, while his sister sat in the teacher’s desk with her head on the desk and her hair splayed around her.</p><p>“I’d love to see you explain that one to their teacher.”</p><p>“Well if she chooses tomorrow to be the first day she checks in on their progress, I will be sure to blame you.”</p><p>“Oh, so you <em>do</em> have a plan. You <em>are</em> smart.”</p><p>She snorted at the comment and David grinned—Sarah had always been quick to laugh, but her snorts were hard to earn.</p><p>“Hey,” She poked his cheek. “We’re <em>sixteen</em>. How weird is that?”</p><p>“It is pretty weird,” he agreed. He tilted his head up, considering. “I thought I’d feel different by now.”</p><p>“From what? Yesterday?”</p><p>“You’re so mean,” he whined, smiling when she laughed. “No, I mean…have I changed at all?”</p><p>Sarah hummed around the lip of the bottle and took another swig. As she lowered it, she tipped her head towards him, considering.</p><p>“You’re quieter now.”</p><p>He shrugged. “Well, of course. That’s just part of growing up.”</p><p>“Maybe.” She passed him the bottle and he set on his other side, letting her lean onto his shoulder. “I think you’re still you in the best ways.”</p><p>“I appreciate your specificity.”</p><p>“Still just as wordy.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>Sarah laughed and dodged his clumsy swing. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Have I changed?”</p><p>He hummed and looked over at her. He supposed Mrs. Hochman was right now that he was looking closer—she had grown to look a lot like their mother. She had the same thin face, the same high cheekbones, the same curve to her nose. She had lost the roundness in her cheeks at some unidentifiable point. She was taller. David knew that wasn’t what she was asking.</p><p>He thought about how she used to listen to all his questions just so that he could say them out loud. He thought about how she now asked what he was learning in class—half out of support for him and half in desperation for the opportunities she was denied. He thought about how she swore like a dock worker but made the biggest fuss when Les said the slightest curse word. He thought about how she helped him sew ripped seams and worn patches and never asked for anything in return. He thought about how she was quick to smile and laugh and tease. He thought about her stubbornness and spite and how she used them as weapons to defend the people she loved. He thought about how much he wished he could be everything for her that she was for him.</p><p>She had changed. She was a little more guarded, a little more wary. There was always something a little caged in her tone—like she was holding something close to her chest, afraid either of what it would do or what it would reveal of her. But beneath all of that, beneath the caution and fear that age seemed to instil in everyone, she was still Sarah.</p><p>He decided on: “You’re more careful about where you spend it, but you still have the biggest capacity for kindness of any person I’ve known.”</p><p>Her cheeks were already flushed, but he was certain they went redder. “Oh my god.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re – you’re such a – you’re such a flatterer!”</p><p>He laughed, surprised. “I don’t think I have ever been accused of that.”</p><p>“Well, maybe if they saw how much of a sap you are,” she said. “I mean – <em>David</em>. Really?”</p><p>“No, it’s the alcohol talking. I’m going to deny ever saying that tomorrow.”</p><p>She made an affronted squawk and swatted his shoulder. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest and he was sure it wasn’t from the whiskey. He grabbed her round the middle and pulled her in. She settled back into his arms, and the two looked out at the dark cloudy sky.</p><p>“Hey.” Her smile was wide and unrestrained. “Happy birthday, David.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, Sarah.”</p><p>“Here’s to a great year ahead.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations</p><p>jesteśmy w domu: We’re home [Polish]<br/>bagrisn heym (באַגריסן היים ): Welcome home [Yiddish]<br/>Mazltov tsu dayn geboyrn-tog: Happy birthday [Yiddish – it’s the equivalent]<br/>Mazletov: congratulations [Yiddish]<br/> <br/>The Bond Street Branch was one of the earliest public libraries opened in New York. It was run by the New York Free Circulating Library. It opened May 1 1883, and had a reading room open from 4pm to 9pm.</p><p>The poem Sarah quotes from is "In Exile” by Emma Lazarus, who was one of the first successful and highly visible Jewish American authors. You may know her poem "The New Colossus,” which is enscribed on the plaque for the Statue of Liberty.</p><p>Sarah being a tutor for younger students is impressive but not uncommon. Peer teaching (also knows as the Monitorial System, the Madras System, or the Lancasterian system) started developing in the early 19th century.  Older students and students that learned the material quickly often acted as assistants in the classroom.</p><p>What’s that? Oh yes, I am indeed a nerd.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Совесть: July 16, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, thank you for the comments and kudos. This chapter is not the proper way to repay them.</p><p>The middle section quotes the Broadway script heavily. However, I’ve developed my interpretation of the scene from a variety of <em>Newsies</em> tapings—some more supported by streaming services than others. </p><p>Additional warnings for this chapter: non-graphic description of injuries, and a few close calls with anxiety attacks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Совесть</strong> <em>n.</em> the belief that moral duty stems from human nature rather than by law or through learning; the expectation to follow social morals [Russian, no direct English translation]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>July 16, 1899</strong>
</p><p>The evening had tipped into morning when David finally convinced Sarah to stop her regimen at their father’s bedside. Les had been asleep for hours, curled up tight against his Tata, fists clenched in his shirt, afraid to let go. David practically carried his sister to their bed. She watched him as he did so. Her eyes were slowly losing their vacant glaze, but he could tell how lost she was by the corners of her frown.</p><p>She was out before her head hit the pillow.</p><p>David wanted nothing more than to collapse next to her, but there was something else he had to do.</p><p>His mother was in the same position she had been for the last two evenings—head of the table, paper scattered in front of her, head in one hand while the other hand scratched notes onto more scraps of paper. The single candle at her side caught the lines of her face, the shadows falling harshly under her cheekbones. The warm light hid how pale she was but showed the circles under her eyes. The candle was burned down to a stub. The wax dripped onto the table.</p><p>David grabbed the small tray and a cloth from the shelf and reached across his mother to clean the mess. She flinched back violently and David stopped. Slower, he finished the action, setting the candle on top of the tray and wiping the table—he would have to remember to get the rest off later. He swept aside the cluttered paper, and moved the flickering flame far enough away from her that it barely illuminated his mother’s most recent attempt to make sense of their future.</p><p>He took the seat beside her and did not move the chair closer. Carefully quiet as not to wake the others, he spoke: “Mama, you need to sleep.”</p><p>She shook her head. Just as quiet, she replied: “I’m almost done. You should be in bed, though. You have an early day tomorrow.”</p><p>“So do you,” he reminded her. “Sarah will need your help.”</p><p>She shook her head again. Her hand was shaking too.</p><p>“Mama–”</p><p>The pencil clattered on the table. David looked away.</p><p>The candle illuminated one of the sheets in front of him. He could barely read the numbers written; the calculations were covered in violently scrawled lines. He didn’t need to see the numbers, though. He had helped her do the math earlier that day. And the day before. And the day before. No matter how they re-arranged them, they came out the same.</p><p>“Do you have your clothes laid out for tomorrow?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes, Mama,” he confirmed.</p><p>“Lesham’s clothes as well?”</p><p>“Yes, Mama.”</p><p>“Good,” she folded her hands together on the table. “It will make a good first impression. If you look smart you will stand out and you will attract a different crowd than the other boys.”</p><p>David nodded. She had said so when she first asked him to get their things in order.</p><p>“Lesham is asleep, right?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Good. You should be in bed, too.”</p><p>“So should you.”</p><p>She spoke on as though she did not hear him, checking “You have the money to buy the papers?” and then continued before he confirmed: “Your father said you pay for them after you sell them. And ask if they buy back unsold papers; no use paying for what you do not have to.”</p><p>He knew this too, but nodded nonetheless.</p><p>“How much do they cost?”</p><p>“Half a cent per paper,” he said.</p><p>“Alright, so that’s…” she trailed off, looking blankly ahead.</p><p>“If we buy twenty at ten and sell them all, we’ll make twenty cents tomorrow. That’s a ten-cent profit.”</p><p>She breathed in and let it out slowly. The small flame flickered.</p><p>David voiced the thoughts his mother refused to: “That’s not enough.”</p><p>She closed her eyes. “We have some savings. We have enough for the summer.”</p><p>“And after that?”</p><p>“Your father will be better by September.”</p><p>The doctor had not sounded so certain in his evaluation. Though, to be fair, his mother did not sound certain either.</p><p>“We will be okay,” she asserted. “You and Les will sell newspapers. Sarah will get a job at the factory. And when your father’s leg heals… when your father gets better you will all go back to school.”</p><p>It had been her mantra over the last few days. She said it when chided her husband about keeping still—“you need to let it heal so that you can go back to work and the children can go back to school”—and when David was preparing to sell his new dress shirt—“no, David, you have grown out of your other shirts and you will need your nice one when you go back in the fall.”</p><p>He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t think she was trying to convince <em>him.</em></p><p>“And I am going to ask for some more jobs,” she continued. “I can do them in the evenings.”</p><p>“Sarah could do them,” he offered.</p><p>She shook her head. “She is still learning. And a factory will pay more.”</p><p><em>It wouldn’t usually</em>. Worry ate his stomach. “More than piecework?”</p><p>“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.</p><p>“I thought your shops paid you well?”</p><p>“They do but they don’t have any more work available.”</p><p>“Where are you going to get more work, then?”</p><p>“Tomorrow I will go to the shop by the bridge to see if they have anything.”</p><p>“Mama…” he let the desperation seep into his voice, “they rarely pay on time and they never pay you enough.”</p><p>“Well, we must do the best with what we have.”</p><p>“And if they decide they cannot afford your services again? Like last time? What then?”</p><p>She raised her chin and kept her eyes on the table. “I’ll find work in a factory, too.”</p><p>He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “Mama, you know you can’t–”</p><p>“Do not tell me what I can’t–”</p><p>“I don’t have to, the doctors did. And Tata will agree with me in the morning.”</p><p>“Your father knows that if it is necessary–” she started.</p><p>“You’d collapse on the factory floor within your first shift.”</p><p>“Well there isn’t much of a <em>choice</em>, is there, David?” She whispered harshly.</p><p>He swallowed once, twice, and murmured: “No, Mama, there isn’t…but if we sold on Saturdays–”</p><p>“No.” The denial echoed through their home, far too loud. She switched back to a hoarse whisper: “No, you are <em>not</em> selling on Shabbat. We will figure it out. We won’t stop– I can’t let you <em>lose</em>–”</p><p>She choked on the words and pressed her fist to her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently with the force of her sobs.</p><p>The candle flickered and died.</p><p>The past few days, David had felt like he was floating. He’d followed his mother’s every command. He hadn’t known what else to do. He didn’t know how to fix any of this.</p><p>But he knew what he had to do in that moment.</p><p>He moved to sit on the arm of her chair. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her head against him. She grabbed his arms as he did, thin strong fingers circling his elbows, grip so hard he would find bruises in the morning. He pressed his hand on the back of her head and held her tight to muffle the sound of her desperate sobs. They cracked out of her chest. It sounded like they hurt.</p><p>He stared at the wall with dry eyes as his mother soaked his shirt with her tears.</p><p>Her sobs died down to sniffles. She was still shaking.</p><p>He leaned down and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.</p><p>“It’s time to go to bed, Mama.”</p><p>She sucked in a rattling breath and nodded against him.</p><p>She kept hold of his arms as he led her into their room. As he helped her lie down, she moved to holding his hand. She kept a tight hold on him as they whispered the Shema together, voices hoarse. It wasn’t until they finished that she let him go. She turned and reached to clutch at her husband’s shirt the same way Les clutched at his father’s.</p><p>“David,” she said, her voice muffled where it was pressed in the pillow.  She turned to face him, eyes tired and full of emotion he wanted to look away from.</p><p>
  <em>I wish this had never happened.</em>
</p><p>“I know.” He replied.</p><p>She nodded and turned away.</p><p>David stood up and walked out. He stripped down to his underclothes; the house was still too hot. It had been sunny that day. He climbed in bed, careful not to disturb his sister. She needed to sleep. She had to find a job in the morning.</p><p>David hoped it would be a safer job than their father’s.</p><p>The grief and fear he’d locked away hit him like a blow.</p><p>He pressed his face into the pillow to muffle the sound of him falling apart.</p><p>..........</p><p>David woke up with the dawn. He wasn’t sure if he’d really slept.</p><p>He dressed quickly. He got water. He put the kettle on and sliced two pieces of bread.</p><p>He went into his parents’ room and carefully extracted Les from between them.</p><p>His father shifted and cracked an eye open.</p><p>“Go back to sleep, Tata.” David whispered.</p><p>His father opened both eyes. “You are a good boy, David.”</p><p>David nodded, not trusting his voice. His father reached over, a slight grimace on his face at the movement. David reached out his own hand, meeting his father halfway. David let go first. His father lowered his hand to settle on his mother's waist. David left as her eyes began to flutter.</p><p>Sarah was at the stove, pouring the tea. She didn't look up when he came to her side.</p><p>“Les has eaten.” Her voice was tired but it wasn’t empty.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>She nodded and passed him a mug. David drank it immediately, letting the water burn on the way down.</p><p>Someone tugged his shirt. He looked down at his brother.</p><p>“Ready.”</p><p>David nodded and grabbed their bags. Les was already out the door.</p><p>As he went to leave, a hand grabbed his wrist.</p><p>He turned back as Sarah pulled him into a hug.</p><p>Before he could return it, she let go. “Good luck.”</p><p>He swallowed thickly and blinked to stop his eyes from stinging. “You too.”</p><p>He hurried to catch up to Les.</p><p>..........</p><p>It was another sunny day; clear skies, only a few smoke plumes interrupting the field of blue. The warm morning air promised a hot day. In the dawn, though, the sun was a welcome presence, not yet an adversary.</p><p>He knew it was silly to be upset at the weather, but David wished there were clouds.</p><p>Les, for his part at least, looked lively. He’d hardly recognized his brother in the past week, drawn and quiet as he was. He seemed better now that he had something to look forward to—though David felt a little terrible that he could only offer <em>selling newspapers</em> as an alternative to sitting around the apartment while doctors and neighbours shuffled in and out—but he was still a little sad around the edges; red rimmed eyes and fidgeting hands.</p><p>David doubted he looked any better, but he hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror before they left.</p><p>“Do you think there will be a lot of boys?” Les asked.</p><p>“Probably.” David answered.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll be nice?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>David turned them onto what he hoped was the right road. He saw a crowd of kids running through a set of gates. Many of them looked around David’s age, and a discomforting number of them looked Les’s age or younger. How did they get there? What led them to start working for pennies on the dime, day in and day out, standing under the hot sun and yelling headlines to uncaring crowds? Had there always been so many of them? David wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed them; he’d just dismissed their calls as he walked to school or to the shop or to shul with his family.</p><p>Another kid—a little girl, skirt whipping around her ankles—ran past them, but didn’t turn into the gates. Was she going off to a factory? Or was she running an errand? How soon until she would also have to turn through the gates? How close was her family to crumbling, to watching everything they worked for go up in smoke in a single instance? How close were any of them?</p><p>He couldn’t think about that, though. Or he couldn’t think too hard about it. He had to try not to think about it.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>David looked to see a boy—dark hair, brows, and eyes, tanned, maybe a few years his junior, a smudge of dirt on his cheek that he must have missed in the morning—looking up at him with a slight frown. “You good?”</p><p>“Oh.” He had been thinking too hard. “Sorry. Yes. I– is this the circulation gate for The World?”</p><p>“The one and only—well, in Manhattan.”</p><p>He noticed the satchel on the boy’s hip—well worn and stained. “Are you a newsie?”</p><p>“Yep!” the boy replied. “Name’s Elmer.”</p><p>“I’m Les.” His brother said, sticking his hand out like he’d been taught. “We’re gonna be newsies too.”</p><p>The boy—Elmer—smiled wide and took it. “Nice to meet ya, Les. You joinin’ up with us today then?”</p><p>Les nodded. “Yep. Me and David are.”</p><p>“David and I.” David corrected automatically.</p><p>Elmer sent him an odd look, before smiling once more, a little softer. “Well, lemme get you started. Follow me.”</p><p>Les did so excitedly and David trailed behind him, hand on his brother’s shoulder.</p><p>Elmer took them through the gates, just as a scowling man with a thick mustache yelled out to the crowd of boys “Papes for the newsies! Line up!”</p><p>“That one at the front is <em>Jack Kelly.</em>” Elmer said, nodding his head to the boy making his way easily to the front of the line. David couldn’t see his face—just a stretch of broad shoulders under a dark vest and a blue shirt. Elmer grabbed Les’s hand as the other children began to swarm, pulling them through the chaos. “Yeah, <em>the</em> Jack Kelly. He’s in charge, but we’ll hafta introduce ya later.”</p><p>The newsies were ordering themselves into a line, shoving their way in front and behind each other. David tried to ignore the buzzing building under his skin.</p><p>“Here,” Elmer wedged them between a boy with a crutch and one with no sleeves. The latter was chatting animatedly with the boy behind him and didn't look up when Elmer waved to him. “Hey, Al, new kids. Help ‘em out, would’ya?”</p><p>No-sleeves scowled at the interruption, waving him off.</p><p>Elmer rolled his eyes and grabbed the boy’s hat off his head—revealing a shock of bright red hair—and whapped him in the arm.</p><p>“Hey, asshole, <em>new kids</em>.”</p><p>The red-headed newsie grabbed back his hat, mouth open for what was sure to be a tirade if the angry glint in his eyes were anything to go by, but he caught David’s eye and blinked, anger bleeding out of his expression.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, I’ll get them a spot,” he said before turning back to his conversation.</p><p>Elmer rolled his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout ‘im. Albert’s ain’t his best in the mornin’. Just follow the line to grab the papes then he’ll help you find a free corner. We’ll sort out a proper sellin’ spot later. One of us’ll find you at the end of the day and get you a place for the night.”</p><p>David nodded, trying to take in the information. Alright, their father had been right—pick them up and pay later.</p><p>“Good.” He clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to say, so quiet that Les probably couldn’t hear, “it gets easier,” before he ran off to join the line.</p><p>“Thank you!” Les called with a wave.</p><p>Elmer turned with a smile and a little salute.</p><p>Les turned to look up at David with a small smile. “I like him.”</p><p>David tried to return the expression.</p><p>He turned the two of them around to make sure they moved up in time.</p><p>At the front, a lanky boy with a cigar dangling in his fingers slammed his hand down on the box with a wry smile and crooned: “Well, whatever happened to romance?”</p><p>Which…what?</p><p>“What does that mean?” Les asked him quietly.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It must be a joke.”</p><p>“It wasn’t funny, though.”</p><p>David sighed. “<em>He</em> must have thought it was or else he wouldn’t have said it.”</p><p>The two boys behind him started laughing. David pointedly did not turn around.</p><p>He looked back to the front to see the boy with a crutch moving up as the man on the platform called for “fifty papes for Crutchie,” which David thought was rather rude before–</p><p>“Well have a look at this.” The man crowed, beefy arms landing on his hips. “A new kid!”</p><p>Oh good: undivided attention.</p><p>“I’m new too!” Les called up.</p><p>David reached to stuff his brother back behind him.</p><p>“Hey, don’t worry kid,” someone called over. “It rubs right off.”</p><p>David did his best to ignore the comment and forced out the necessary words: “I’ll take twenty newspapers, please.”</p><p>The man nodded and called for “twenty for the new kid.”</p><p>David pulled Les along behind him and reached out to grab the papers from the tall boy with the nasty expression.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>David turned back. The man was glaring down at him. “Let’s see the dime.”</p><p>He…what? But hadn’t Elmer said–</p><p>“I’ll pay when I sell them,” he tried.</p><p>The man smirked. “Funny, kid. Come on. Cash up front.”</p><p>“But whatever I don’t sell, you buy back, right?” David tried again.</p><p>The man laughed and David’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Certainly! And every time you lose a tooth, I put a penny under your pillow.” The man turned to the boys assembled: “This kid’s a riot!”</p><p>David tried very hard not to wince. He was not successful.</p><p>He hadn’t felt this small since—David wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this small.</p><p>The man turned back and David was sharply aware of how wide his arms were. “Come on! Drop the cash or move along.”</p><p>He stuffed his shaking hands into his pocket and fished out a dime and quickly placed it on the tallest stack of papers. The man snatched it almost before he let go.</p><p>The boy on the platform slammed the newspapers to David’s chest, knocking the wind out of him with the force.</p><p>“Move it along!”</p><p>Great first impression. Just…great.</p><p>Les looked furious. “That wasn’t–”</p><p>“Les, not now,” David said as firmly as he could.</p><p>Les snapped his mouth shut but kept glaring.</p><p>He herded his brother out of the way, ignoring the noise of the boys behind him and the blood still pounding in his ears. He forced his fingers to steady enough that he could count out the ten papers for each of them. Just do that. Just do that and they would get on their way and sell them. That was all. Just count out the one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and then count out the other one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine–</p><p>…Oh.</p><p>Oh, this was not going to go well.</p><p>“David?”</p><p>David shook his head and took a deep breath. He pictured his sister’s blank eyes, his father’s pained grimace, and his mother’s dark circles. Then he steeled himself and turned to say: “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I paid for twenty, but you gave me nineteen.”</p><p>The yard went silent.</p><p>And the man’s face went red.</p><p>“You see how nice I was to this new kid?” he called to the frozen crowd. He slammed his fist on the box, the <em>clang</em> ringing sharp and loud. “And what do I get for my civility?”</p><p>David grabbed Les’s arm and pulled him back.</p><p>“Hey,” he started to say, but–</p><p>The man stalked towards him, face darkening with each step. “Ungrounded accusations.”</p><p>Hands took the papers out of David’s hands, and wasn’t that always the first step? Make sure he didn’t have anything to block the hits with or defend himself with and god <em>fucking</em> dammit Les had already seen him beaten up he didn’t need to see it actually <em>happen.</em></p><p>“I just want what I paid for,” he heard himself say, and, oh, good, at least his mouth was still running, <em>that</em> would help things–</p><p>The scowling boy leaned over menacingly, fist clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “He <em>said</em> beat it!”</p><p>David made sure Les was behind him, and braced himself for–</p><p>“Woah!”</p><p>Broad shoulders shifted under a dark vest and blue shirt; Jack Kelly strode confidently towards the conflict. He waved what David realized was his too-small pile of papers in the air and called out: “New kid’s right, Weasel. You gave him nineteen.”</p><p>As though to demonstrate, he fanned them out before shrugging. He turned away from the man’s — Weasel’s? — growing ire to look across at David. He only had a second to register a sharp jaw, a rakish grin, and a quick wink.</p><p>“Hey,” Jack Kelly continued, attitude still in full force, “I’m sure it’s an honest mistake on account of Oscar can’t count to twenty with his shoes on.”</p><p>The sly comment immediately sparked an uproar, with the rest of the newsies laughing as Weasel was forced to grab Oscar before he lunged off the platform at the still grinning Jack Kelly.</p><p>“Here.” Weasel was still red faced as he slammed the last paper to David’s chest. “Now take a hike!”</p><p>Oh, <em>gladly</em>.</p><p>He grabbed the papers from the newsie leader’s outstretched hand, muttering a quiet thanks, before counting out ten and passing them over to his brother with the speed only desperation could afford.</p><p>“Hey,” Jack Kelly called out, “Give the new kid fifty more papes.”</p><p>Oh, absolutely not.</p><p>“I don’t want more <em>papes</em>,” he said.</p><p>Jack Kelly set the money down anyways, tossing a cocky grin over his shoulder. “What kind of newsie don’t want more papes?”</p><p>David kept his head ducked in the guise of stuffing his papers into his satchel as the crowd of boys started muttering behind him.</p><p>“I’m no charity case,” he asserted, grabbing his brother’s shoulder firmly to steer them both away from the lingering air of confrontation, and felt compelled to remind these boys: “besides, I don’t even know you.”</p><p>Les pulled out of his grip and helpfully reminded him: “His name’s Jack.”</p><p>David took a very deep breath in and released it slowly.</p><p>The newsie with the crutch made his way towards him. “Yeah, this here is the famous Jack Kelly,” he announced, and, yes, David had heard. “He once escaped jail on the back of Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage. Made all the papes.”</p><p>Well...okay?</p><p>“Hey” David turned to see <em>the famous Jack Kelly</em> walking steadily towards where his brother had perched himself on a box. “How old are you, kid?”</p><p>“I’m ten,” Les immediately replied, “almost.”</p><p>Jack pointed a finger to his chest with a mockery of a stern expression. “Well, anybody asks, you’re seven. Younger sells more papes, and if we’re gonna be partners…”</p><p>David wasn’t sure if it was the residual stress or the way the other boy was sizing up his brother like a piece of meat, but a thrum of protective rage suddenly rushed through his body, leaving him very cold and very calm.</p><p>“Who said” —David cut him off— “we want a partner?”</p><p>Jack looked up at his words. He must have seen something in his eyes because he stuffed his hands in his pockets.</p><p>“Selling with Jack is the chance of a lifetime,” the newsie beside him offered. “You learn from him, you learn from the best.”</p><p>“If he’s the best, what’s he need with me?” David challenged.</p><p>“‘Cause you got a little brother,” Jack said, pointing again at the boy in question, “and I don’t. With that puss we could easily sell a 1000 papes a week.”</p><p>David arched his brow.</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes. He stepped back, crossed his arms, and, to prove his point, called up to Les: “Hey, look sad, kid.”</p><p>Les made the same expression he did when Sarah tried to get him to fold the sheets: bottom lip jutting out and wobbling, tears welling in his eyes. It had lost its power in the Jacobs household years ago, but, in the World’s Manhattan distribution yard, David had to admit it was effective.</p><p>Jack obviously thought so too. With a chuckle he gestured at Les. “We’re gonna make millions!”</p><p>Les smiled wide and David couldn’t help but mirror the expression. It had been a while since he’d seen it. But, unfortunately, David also knew that expression meant that his little brother had been completely and unavoidably conned.</p><p>“This is by brother David,” he proclaimed, “I’m Les.”</p><p>Jack waved absently, “Hey, nice to meet ya, Davey.” David. “My two bits come off the top, we split everything else 70-30, alright?”</p><p>Not <em>alright.</em></p><p>Before David even had the chance, Les burst out: “50-50. You wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on a little ol’ kid?”</p><p>Jack turned around with an expression of disbelief and begrudging respect. David was sure he was making the same face.</p><p>So… Sarah <em>had</em> taught him how to negotiate.</p><p>Someone whistled long and low. Out of the corner of his eye, David saw the one with the cigar shush and nudge a few newsies to watch. Most of the other boys had already stopped to stare at the spectacle.</p><p>All eyes were on their leader and David’s little brother.</p><p>Jack strode forward, finger wagging. “60-40,” he proclaimed, “and that is my final offer.”</p><p>Les looked back to David, question clear.</p><p>Part of David was instantly relieved Les still looked to him for answers.</p><p>The other part of David knew he had no idea what he was really doing at this point.</p><p>He tipped his head and shrugged.</p><p>Les nodded and turned back to Jack. “Deal!”</p><p>Jack spit into his hand and offered it to his brother, and before he could say anything, his brother spit into his hand and–</p><p>David had no idea what to do with any of this.</p><p>Well, he could point out the obvious.</p><p>“That’s disgusting,” he said.</p><p>Their new selling partner grinned, “That’s just business.” He stepped up to join Les on the box and yelled out across the yard: “Newsies, hit the streets! The sun is up, the headline stinks, and this kid ain’t getting any younger!”</p><p>Les laughed, and, despite himself, David couldn’t help but smile once more at the sight of his brother’s happiness.</p><p>..........</p><p>It had taken sixteen years, but David had definitely found something he was never going to learn.</p><p>It had been at least three hours and he had sold seven papers.</p><p>He really hoped Sarah had found a job because if it was left up to him the Jacobs family was going to starve by Thursday.</p><p>“Brooklyn Rapid Transit company orders strike!” he called out to the street. “President Rossiter rejects employee demands! Manhattan police sent in to preserve order!”</p><p>A laugh behind him was his only warning before a hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him.</p><p>“Jesus, Davey. They ain’t gonna buy it if ya tell them the whole story.”</p><p>He jerked sharply out of the hold. Jack moved away, hands raised, smirking.</p><p>“What?” David asked.</p><p>“Look, Davey, ‘s impressive, all those facts ‘bout the strike stuff, but that ain’t gonna sell anything.”</p><p>“I – what?”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes but kept the grin. “Davey, you’re gonna scare folks off if ya keep usin’ those fancy words. Folks don’t wanna hear a lecture, they wanna hear somethin’ short. Punchy. Grab their attention.”</p><p>David sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache that had been building all day. “Right. Right. Look, I appreciate the advice, but there…there <em>are</em> no attention-grabbing stories today. I checked.”</p><p>“You did? Good! Youse thinkin’ like a Newsie already.” He patted David’s shoulder again. At least this time he saw the hand coming. “First thing you do if there ain’t a good headline is check the littler stories. Youse also right that there ain’t nothin’ in this rag today, so you know what the next step is?”</p><p>“No, Jack,” he said, trying very hard not to snap at the boy’s tone. “What is the next step?”</p><p>“You lie.”</p><p>“No, I’m not –” he took a deep breath and continued in a more even tone, “I’m not going to lie to sell a newspaper.”</p><p>“Then ya ain’t gonna sell a <em>newspaper</em>.” Jack said, mimicking David’s careful pronunciation. “Look, Davey, it’s just what ya gotta do. Way of the world. Or, hey, way of the World—get it?”</p><p>“That is not –” David started, but stopped at Jack’s raised brow. “Just…I’ll cut down on the facts but that’s it.”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Suit yourself. Your brother’s doin’ swell, so maybe you can give him your papes when he’s done early.”</p><p>David ignored the comment but did take the mention as an excuse to check on said brother, who was selling on the opposite corner.</p><p>Jack was at least right on that part; Les was absolutely in his element. Nearly every man who passed him tossed him a penny and took the outstretched paper. Absolutely every lady did. With his red cheeks and wide smile, he really did look better.</p><p>Les looked up to catch David’s eye and ran over to meet him. Right into the road. Right in front of a truck.</p><p>His brother jumped back, shaking his fist after the driver and yelling words David couldn’t hear.</p><p>“Les!” he didn’t recognize his own voice.</p><p>Les ran the rest of the way to meet him. “What?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” David grabbed his brother’s shoulder to steered him fully off the road. “<em>What?</em> Les, you almost got hit!”</p><p>“No, I didn’t.”</p><p>“Yes, you did!”</p><p>“It’s not my fault he wasn’t looking.”</p><p>“You weren’t looking either! I– Les, you can’t <em>do</em> that.”</p><p>“David, I’m fine!”</p><p>“This time! You have to be more careful!” David said with a tight throat, clenching his hand, trying to control his breathing and trying not to think about trucks taking tight turns and hitting unsuspecting pedestrians so that their legs were crooked and bloody and how <em>expensive</em> doctor’s bills could <em>be</em>–</p><p>“David, let go!”</p><p>David looked down, startled, as Les yanked out of his grip. His brother winced and rubbed his shoulder.</p><p>David caught up quickly. “Oh. Oh god, I’m so sorry, Les.”</p><p>“’s okay.” Les mumbled.</p><p>David suddenly felt every hour that he didn’t sleep. He rubbed his hand down his face. “How about you take the other corner? That road leads to a few big shops so there might be more foot traffic.”</p><p>“Okay,” Les agreed, and sped off in that direction.</p><p>David watched him go. In the summer sun his brother’s shoes looked very worn. They would have been the next thing to be replaced.</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cough. David turned.</p><p>Jack was staring at him.</p><p>David squared his shoulders and demanded: “What?”</p><p>“You good?” Jack asked, squinting.</p><p>“Yes.” he replied firmly.</p><p>“You was white as a sheet for a sec there.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>Jack just shrugged. “Alright. Just checkin’. ‘S hot as hell.” He grinned again and jerked his thumb towards the street. “Though if ya do go faintin’ it might get ya enough pity to actually sell some of those papes.”</p><p>“Right.” David reached into his bag and grabbed another newspaper while he tried to press down the anger building in his chest. “Thank you for your concern but I don’t need it.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, you’re ‘no charity case’. Made that clear.” Jack said. “It’s just a joke.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up!” David snapped. His blood ran cold. “Oh, <em>god</em>. I am so sorry.”</p><p>Jack was still smiling but his eyes were wide. “Jesus, ya did it again. You’re already pale, Davey. You don't need to go addin’ to it.”</p><p>David took a deep breath in and out, letting the stench of the city ground him. “Right. Right. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“’S all good, don’t you worry ‘bout it.” Jack tipped his cap down a notch. “First day’s always hard, but you’ll get it. Soon you’ll be hawkin’ good as anyone.”</p><p>David nodded and pointedly did not tell the newsie how desperately he wished he didn’t have to get better at any of this. How much he wanted to sit down in the street and not think for a while. How much he wished someone else would hand him a list of directions or orders that he could follow and have everything turn out okay. How much he wanted someone to figure things out for him.</p><p>It would not help.</p><p>And saying those thoughts out loud would mean he’d have to admit to having them.</p><p>It was fine, though. Their father would go back to work and they’d go back to school. This wasn’t going to be forever. Soon enough, David would go back to being the kid who only got into school with pity and a prayer. David just had to keep his head down and not get involved—a task which he had significant practice in. He would just watch out for Les, figure out how to sell a paper without selling out, and make sure his family didn’t starve.</p><p>“Hey, come ‘ere” Jack called. “One of my regulars is comin’ this way. Even you can sell to her.”</p><p>They’d be fine.</p><p>He was going to figure it out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I stole David’s trolley strike facts from the first three sentences of an archived Times article, but I feel vindicated in doing so because <em>I should be able to read an article from 1899 without giving them my email address.</em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Constraint: July 18, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You could probably make a drinking game out of how often I say “stain” and “laundry” in this chapter, but you shouldn’t because alcohol should be consumed responsibly.</p><p>Chapter specific warnings: non-graphic description of injuries, references to racism and antisemitism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Constraint</strong><em> n. </em> <strong>1.</strong> The act or result of constraining or being constrained; restriction of liberty. <strong>2.</strong> Something that constrains; a limitation on motion or action. <strong>3.</strong> The restraint of natural feelings or their expression; a constrained manner [Middle English from Old French <em>contreinte</em>, fem. past part. (as <strong>constrain</strong>)]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>July 18, 1899</strong>
</p><p>David’s plan to not get involved lasted, at a generous estimate, about twenty-four hours.</p><p>In his opinion, it was completely unfair that his impractical childhood pursuit of justice decided to rear its ugly head when his family was in such dire straits. But rear it did, roaring in his ears as he’d read the new price of papers and listened as the boys around him desperately tried to cover their fear with rage. And despite David’s best efforts—his reminders to himself of his responsibility to <em>feed his folks</em>—Jack Kelly managed to shoot right through his hastily constructed excuses.</p><p>
  <em>If your father had a union…</em>
</p><p>Apparently, that was enough for his moral compass to reorient itself to societal good instead of family duty.</p><p>David followed Jack up to the blackboard and then followed Jack into The World’s headquarters. David followed Jack to Brooklyn, meeting probably the most intimidating person under 5’5”. And when he went home, David took the dimes he’d been saving for donations to fake a day’s income. And David spent that night staring at the ceiling, repressing the urge to twist around under the covers lest he wake Les or Sarah, trying not to think about how angry his parents would be by thinking about how they were going to make this whole thing work.</p><p>Because, somehow, it felt like the strike <em>could</em> work. They had a reporter covering the story—a phenomenally condescending one, mind, and woefully inexperienced, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and without their jobs that is what they were rapidly degenerating into. They had a plan—a very loose one, but it was at least something David could use to anchor himself when he felt his thoughts drifting into his constant debilitating tirade of doubt. And, most importantly, they had the Manhattan Newsies. As David went around the group, reminding them of what they were doing and why they were doing it, he could see he was telling them what they already knew. These boys believed in the strike. Maybe, like David, it was the first time in ages that they’d dared to believe in anything.</p><p>So, of course, The World sent an entire army of goons to knock them down.</p><p>The fight was a blur of pain and panic and screams. David could only remember snatches—the yell Jack let out pushing the wagon at some goons; turning to see Wiesel with a murderous smile and bat raised high; the roll of nausea as Romeo collapsed, the rage in the cop’s eyes as his hand came down; the pain in his side as he fell into a pile of crates.</p><p>It was only by following his brother’s yelling that David was able to drag himself off the ground and out of the chaos.</p><p>Les was barely a few yards from the action, huddling around the corner next to a lump. At the sound of David’s scuffled footsteps his head shot up, eyes wide.</p><p>“It’s just me.” David said, but Les had already launched himself up and wrapped himself against David tightly. This close, David could feel him shaking.</p><p>Les pulled off and swiped away his tears. “He ain’t moving.”</p><p>David looked again at the lump. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he realized it was a boy. With an even sicker feeling he recognized the vibrantly striped socks.</p><p>David swallowed bile. He grabbed Les’s chin, turning his brother to face him rather than continue to look at Romeo’s prone form. “We need to get him out of here.”</p><p>“But what about the others?” Les asked. They could still hear the shouting in the distribution yard.</p><p>“We can’t help them, Les, I’m sorry.” David let Les go to kneel down. He pretended to check over the newsie so that his brother couldn’t see the tears that were blurring his vision. “We can help Romeo, though. Go make sure we can bring him home safe.”</p><p>He held his breath, but soon enough Les’s feet pounded down the pavement to check around the corner. David took the moment to wipe his eyes before leaning down and nudging the unconscious boy.</p><p>“Hey?” He tried to keep his voice calm. It was a losing battle. “Romeo? Romeo can you hear me?”</p><p>The lump of boy groaned and shifted until only half of his face was pressed into the ground. He cracked an eye open and mumbled.</p><p>David swallowed what was either a sob or a cry for joy. “Hey, you with me?”</p><p>Romeo squinted at him and moved to sit up. David caught his shoulders and helped to ease the way. The motion brought a trickle of blood down the side of his face. “Davey?”</p><p>“Hello.” David said. “We need to get you out of here.”</p><p>Romeo groaned and raised his hand to his temple, smearing the blood. “What happened?”</p><p>“You hit your head pretty hard.” David explained, leaving out the part where he hit it on a cop’s hand. “Les and I are gonna get you back to the lodging house, but I need you to stay awake enough to tell us where to go. Do you think you can do that?”</p><p>Romeo closed his eyes and nodded.</p><p>“Good. Okay. Now, preferably I would check you here instead of making you wait to receive treatment, but I don’t have the necessary equipment so I'm going to get you to the place that does, okay?”</p><p>“Davey, I can’t keep up with you when I’m at my best,” Romeo said with a wry smile. “Ya gotta dumb it down for me.”</p><p>David laughed despite himself. Even to his ears it was a broken sound, bourne of relief rather than humour. “Sorry. I’m going to help you stand up, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I got that part. Just tryin’ to stall.” Romeo shifted his back off the wall and groaned. “No time like now I guess.”</p><p>David tried to maneuver the boy as gently as possible, but it was still awkward and painful. Romeo refused to be carried on David’s back, which was probably for the best since David’s side was starting to protest. His ribs, already angry after being thrown out of The World’s offices and then into a pile of crates, were now throwing a tantrum at their mistreatment. Eventually, they got Romeo’s arm over David’s shoulder with David firmly grasping his wrist to keep him there. David wound his other arm around Romeo’s side, shifting him a bit until he was taking most of the younger boy’s weight. With their height difference it was… not particularly comfortable.</p><p>Les ran back as they began taking their first awkward steps. He smiled wide at the sight of the two of them upright.</p><p>“Hiya, Romeo. You look like you’re hobbling out of a drunk tank!”</p><p>Romeo laughed, then winced. “That’s not far off how I’m feeling. Your brother tells me youse gonna help me get back home.”</p><p>Les puffed up. “Yeah, we gotcha.”</p><p>“Glad to have ya. It’s on Duane street, big building, brick, says ‘Newsboys Lodging House’ on it in big letters. You know it?”</p><p>“Yep!” Les said and started walking a bit ahead of them to lead the way.</p><p>Once again, David was in awe at the heart of these newsies. “Thank you.”</p><p>“No problem.” Romeo said, before cutting himself off with a groan. David took more of his weight.</p><p>They wound the streets awkwardly. Passersby gave them a wide berth. After what felt like forever, Les finally turned back excitedly and motioned towards a large building on the street corner. David nudged Romeo, who raised his head and nodded. Les led them round the back. Their previously awkward gait turned painfully cumbersome as they climbed the stairs, but they finally managed to get in the door.</p><p>Almost as soon as they entered, they were approached by a very harried man. He was slight and, as David realized when he came to stand in front of him, rather short. His clean-shaven face was cut with deep lines, which deepened with the scowl he gave David, and deepened further when his eyes slid to David’s charge.</p><p>Romeo, for his part, raised the hand not currently wound around David in greeting, and cheerfully said: “Afternoon.”</p><p>“You boys will be the death of me.” The man said in lieu of a greeting. In a swift motion he shifted Romeo off of David and onto his shoulder instead. David was about to protest, but stopped as Romeo smiled up at his new support.</p><p>“Aw, Kloppman. I knew ya cared.” Romeo said with a wink.</p><p>“Save it for the customers.” The man—Kloppman, presumably—said gruffly. He was much more graceful carrying Romeo than David had been. David tried very hard not to think about how he got that practice. “The other boys have set up in the bunk area. Most are back. You seen Jack, Crutchie, or Specs?”</p><p>“We lost track of them.” David answered.</p><p>Kloppman shot him a look—another variation of a scowl. “You’re new.”</p><p>“I’m new too.” Les chirped.</p><p>Kloppman looked down, and his surprise quickly morphed into a smile. “I promise it ain’t usually like this, kid. You two follow. We’ll sort out payment for the night after you clean up.”</p><p>“We won’t be staying the night, sir.” David said, following Kloppman to a staircase at the back. “We’re just here to check in with the other newsies.”</p><p>Romeo giggled. “<em>Sir</em>.”</p><p>Kloppman ignored the remark. He shifted Romeo and began heading up. “You got a home to get back to? Family?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” David said. “And we really just want to make sure the others are alright before we go.”</p><p>“Sure,” Kloppman agreed, “and you’ll be fixing yourselves up while you’re here. Don’t think I don’t see that bruise.”</p><p>David’s hand shot up to his cheek at the mention. “It’s nothing, sir.”</p><p>“Don’t argue.” Kloppman said firmly, pausing as he shifted Romeo again to ascending the second flight, using the break as an opportunity to glare directly at David. “You leave after you clean up.”</p><p>The stairs opened into a large room, lined wall-to-wall with bunk beds. The entire floor was chaos, boys yelling and running between the beds. Kloppman paid no mind. The boys minded for him, parting as he carried Romeo through the mess. David was about to follow when he heard someone call his name.</p><p>“Davey!” wide smile, wiry curls, large ears…<em>Mush</em>, right. At a quick scan, David saw a bandage around his arm and a bruise on his jaw, but otherwise he looked unwounded. His eyes were clear and intent as he grabbed David’s shoulder. “Shit, we lost track of you two in all that. You got out okay?”</p><p>“Yes.” David confirmed. He looked back to see where his former charge had been taken, but could no longer find the boy or the man who had been supporting him. “Les found Romeo so we brought him here.”</p><p>Suddenly he found himself pulled tight against the broad-shouldered boy. Mush pulled back. His hands still firmly grasped David’s shoulders.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>David grimaced at how genuine the gratitude was. He couldn’t handle gratitude when the cries of the boys he had unknowingly led into battle and the cries of the boys he had left behind were still ringing in his ears.</p><p>“You don’t have to thank me, Mush.” David tried to explain.</p><p>Mush just shook his head with a smile. “Youse somethin’ else, Davey.”</p><p>Before David could respond, Mush hurried away.</p><p>Something tapped his shoulder. He turned to see another newsie holding a handful of white cloth and a bowl of water. The boy pressed the cloth into David’s chest, barely meeting his eyes, and said: “Here.”</p><p>David gently took them and the bowl of water from the newsie’s hand while desperately wracking his brain for the boy’s name. A memory came—a fierce scowl and a proclamation of <em>I’m with you</em>. “Thank you, Tommy.”</p><p>Tommy shrugged. “Race’s in the back if you need him.”</p><p>And with that the boy sped away.</p><p>David moved to the side, finding an unoccupied bed to set the haphazard medical supplies down. Les followed him, sitting carefully as not to knock the water over.</p><p>They had been lucky—both of them. Les barely had a scratch, and, aside the bruise that he was apparently developing, David had almost gotten off scot-free. His ribs were sore, but they didn’t hurt the way he knew cracked or broken ones did. If they could just clean some of the dirt off, they may be able to walk through their neighbourhood with no one the wiser as to how they spent the day.</p><p>David bent down to wet the cloth and felt pain sear along his side. Okay, he may have spoken too soon.</p><p>“David?” Les asked.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he tried to assure his brother.</p><p>He started unbuttoning his vest, and peeled it back. Oh, he had definitely spoken too soon.</p><p>“David!”</p><p>He quickly closed his vest, hoping the blood hadn’t also seeped through to his outer layer. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re bleeding!” Les yelled. His eyes were still glued to David’s side.</p><p>“It’s just a scratch.”</p><p>Les apparently could do a surprisingly good rendition of their sister’s <em>how dare you try to lie to me</em> glare. “A bad scratch!”</p><p>“Hey, if it was a bad scratch, I wouldn’t have been able to carry Romeo, right?”</p><p>Les glared some more.</p><p>David was hardly concerned at that point, though. His mind was stuck on the large red stain probably still blooming on his side.</p><p>
  <em>You have grown out of your other shirts and you will need a nicer one when you go back in the fall.</em>
</p><p>“Look,” he reasoned, “the scratch may be a little rough, but I am in nowhere near as bad of shape as my shirt. I’m more concerned about fixing that.”</p><p>Les’s incredulity increased by tenfold. “I don’t care about your <em>shirt</em>, David.”</p><p>“If I go home with a bloody side how do you think Sarah and Mama will react?”</p><p>His brother froze. His eyes widened. “Oh…”</p><p>“Exactly,” David said. “Go ask one of the boys where the laundry room is. And while you’re at it, grab the other’s clothes so that we can get them done together.”</p><p>Les rolled his eyes, but went on his way.</p><p>And David immediately jumped into action.</p><p>He stripped off his vest and shirt. Carefully, he peeled his undershirt off. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the wound—he was right this time; it looked grisly but it wasn’t bad. The largest scratch was only about three inches long and shallow, wrapping around his side. Dried blood caked his skin and a new trickle seeped out as he twisted to get a better look. The rest of his side was littered with smaller scratches and raw patches of skin.</p><p>He didn’t have time to admire his wounds, though. He tore off some of the bandage and dipped it in the water. The angle was awkward but he cleaned himself up best he could. Thankfully, the cloth was thick enough that he could scrub pretty hard. He pressed another bit of bandage against the wound and used the rest of the bandages to wrap around his stomach and tie it to secure the wad tight.</p><p>He looked down at his shirts—blood already turning rusty and hard. He grimaced and turned to the drawer behind him, pulling it open roughly and digging out a soft grey undershirt. He’d return it and apologize later. He’d already drastically sacrificed his dignity and given up most of his self-imposed limitations that day; he drew the line at doing the laundry half-naked.</p><p>Les came back as he pulled the shirt over his head. He had a grimace on his face and arms full of dirty clothes.</p><p>“The laundry room is downstairs—second floor, second door on the left,” Les reported, voice thick. “Also, my wrist really hurts.”</p><p>David’s heart stopped.</p><p>He fell to his knees. “Where?”</p><p>Les dropped the bundle and held out his right wrist. It was bright red and swollen. David took Les’s hand and twisted it slightly, testing. The resulting sharp breath told him all he needed to know.</p><p>“Shit.” David said. He looked up sharply. “Don’t repeat that.”</p><p>Les rolled his tear-glazed eyes. “The other boys are sayin’ way worse.”</p><p>“Don’t repeat those, either,” David amended, carefully turning Les’s arm at the elbow. “When did this happen?”</p><p>“In the fight, I think,” Les confessed. “Didn’t notice.”</p><p>“Okay.” David said. He took a deep breath and let the pain in his side centre him. “Okay, Tommy said Race is at the back of the room. I need to deal with this stuff, but he’ll be able to help you. Can you find him yourself or do you want me to come with you?”</p><p>“I can do it.” Les said in a small voice. “You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, boychik.” David watched as the name Les so often revolted against set him completely at ease. “I’m okay.”</p><p>Les nodded and gave David a quick hug with his good arm before speeding off.</p><p>David closed his eyes and let the rage and grief and fear and who knows what else course through him for a moment, hot and cold and overwhelming. Then he opened his eyes, gathered up the clothes, and did his job.</p><p>He followed his brother’s directions and found them true. It was a small room with a wide window at the far end, thrown open so that a breeze fluttered between the sheets hanging on the lines strung high and tight. There were three tubs that took up almost the rest of the room, with barely enough room for two people to move around. David was the only one in there, though, so that didn’t matter. What did matter was that there were taps—<em>taps</em>—which was probably the best thing to happen to him all day. And, No, that wasn’t much of a competition, but he would take what he could get.</p><p>David dropped the clothes in one of the tubs, grabbed a washboard, turned on the tap, and got to work.</p><p>He lost himself in the familiar rhythm—his hands recalling his mother’s instructions to Sarah and him when they assisted her when the jobs built up and her hands seized. He didn’t have to think about it—soak, scrub, wring, hang.</p><p>His mind was elsewhere.</p><p>
  <em>You seen Jack, Crutchie, or Specs?</em>
</p><p>Jack—easy jokes, glittering eyes, strong shoulders, clenched jaw, passion tearing his throat as his words rang through the distribution yard: “All we ask for is a <em>square deal</em>”.</p><p>Crutchie—heartfelt words, playful sarcasm, an inimitably bright smile, the flutter of a handmade banner in the morning breeze.</p><p>Specs—the quirk of a brow, quick humour and mind, running across the city without complaint or mention, a grin that spread slowly and stayed for a while.</p><p>Damn it, where were they? Had they been found out, left behind in the dust? Locked up in the refuge like Jack had warned him about—and though his warnings had been impersonal the horror in his eyes were anything but.</p><p>And where was that reporter? David hadn’t even been introduced before she started asking questions, a flurry of attitude and quotations, a carefully constructed ego David had barely seen a glimpse behind. Would she even publish the story now? Would she be able to? Had she gotten away when the violence started or had she witnessed the horrors for herself? Would she be more offended by the force of the strike breakers? The retaliation from the boys? Or would she see the rage of the police as justified, running a column on the savagery of the newsies, painting the cops as avenging angels sent to quell the starving masses?</p><p>How do you explain what just happened? David had no idea.</p><p><em>There’s no use worrying,</em> a voice like his father’s said in his mind. <em>It is done. We must go from here.</em></p><p><em>Easy for you to say, Tata,</em> David thought back bitterly. <em>You can’t get anywhere.</em></p><p><em>Do you think I do not want to? Do you think I wanted this to happen? How could you be such an ungrateful child?</em> his father—no, his father did not say that.</p><p>This was what it had come to. It wasn’t enough that he was going to get shouted at when he got home. He had to go and do it in his head, too.</p><p>How was he going to explain this to his parents?</p><p>The news must have spread. It hadn’t been a quiet fight. David knew what fights could go undiscovered and undiscussed and that had not been one of them. They would have heard from now. The entire neighbourhood must have heard by now. And most days it felt like everyone in their neighbourhood had heard of him so of course his name would be included, whispered between passersby and carried on the wind.</p><p>His mother would be scared. His father would be disappointed. They both would be angry. David was angry. David was disappointed.</p><p>He reached for the next item. His hand grasped nothing but water. It bled through his fingers.</p><p>Oh. He had finished.</p><p>He collapsed onto the lone chair in the room, closing his eyes and breathing deep. Now that he wasn’t busy, he was starting to feel his body again—his throbbing cheek, the sting of the scratches, the pull of the bandages where they had dried to the blood. His hands itched from the water and soap. He flexed his cold hands and looked down. Yeah, his knuckles were bruising. He’d probably hit them on his fall too. Great.</p><p>He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, letting his side stretch more. It was nicer than the one they had in their tenement. That smarted a bit.</p><p>A commotion sounded at the door. David looked over just as it flew open, revealing Les and Mush.</p><p>“See!” Les said, gesturing to David. “I told you!”</p><p>The statement hung between the three of them, unanswered and unexplained.</p><p>David eventually clued in. “I’m sorry, Mush, did you need something?”</p><p>Mush shook his head.</p><p>“Oh. good.” He looked to where his shirt was hanging—the faint breeze catching the tear in the side. “Well…since you’re here, do you know where I could find some thread?”</p><p>Mush’s mouth dropped open and he rushed forward. “What?”</p><p>“My shirt and vest got ripped,” he clarified. “And some of the other boys' things too. I was going to repair them after they dried.”</p><p>Mush just looked at him in disbelief. Then he raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Davey, what the hell’s wrong with you?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>The newsie just rolled his eyes and grabbed David’s shoulder’s again. This time, though, instead of pulling him in he pushed David forward, forcing him towards the door. Les was almost running beside them, his short legs unable to keep pace. David himself was nearly tripping over his own feet at Mush’s speed.</p><p>“You got any idea how worried we been?” He demanded.</p><p>“What?” David asked.</p><p>“Well, okay, we wasn’t for a while. I thought you was just waitin’ for us to finish up with your brother. But then you ain’t anywhere. So I’m ‘bout to start lookin’ for ya, and Shortstack here starts askin’ me if any of us knows how to do <em>sutures</em>.”</p><p>“He <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Well it just got better when your brother starts goin’ on about how you’d be needin’ sutures after you’re done cleanin up. Talking ‘bout blood gushing—<em>gushing</em>—out of your side. <em>That’s</em> when I starts getting’ worried.”</p><p>David stopped their awkward parade in it’s tracks right as they reached the stairs. He turned to his brother, who was suddenly very interested in the floorboards. “You WHAT?”</p><p>Les rolled his eyes spectacularly and threw up his hands. “It looked bad!”</p><p>David closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am so sorry about him.”</p><p>“You had to get sutures last time.” Les said defensively.</p><p>“Last time?” Mush asked.</p><p>Les nodded. “He got beat up.”</p><p>Mush turned a wide-eyed look on David. “Who’d soak <em>you</em>?”</p><p>“No one.” David lied.</p><p>“He wouldn’t tell me.” Les interjected.</p><p>David ignored the sting in his side as he pulled Les close and clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked at Mush, who was looking at David like he’d grown an extra head. “It was a long time ago.”</p><p>Les mumbled something behind David’s hand.</p><p>“Alright, Davey. Whatever you say.” Mush said with a shake of his head. He pushed David towards the stairs again, this time much gentler than his previous effort. David took it as a peace offering and released his brother to make the ascent.</p><p>The room was much calmer, at least. Most of the boys were sitting on the bunks, holding hushed conversations, playing cards, or just napping.</p><p>Mush prodded him down the aisle of beds until they were almost at the back of the room. The chaos had clearly been localized to two bunks. The haphazard infirmary was stocked with bowls of dirty water and rags, unraveled bandages, and cheap ointments. Race and Elmer were holding court, with the former tying a white bandage around Albert’s bicep, and the latter starting to clear the debris around the beds.</p><p>Albert looked up. Despite the bruise blooming around his eye he smiled wide at the sight of them. “Hey, we’s thought ya disappeared.”</p><p>“He disappeared to the <em>laundry room</em>.” Mush said, pushing David’s shoulders until he sat down on the bed.</p><p>All three newsies looked up at that and said, in chorus, with identical tones of disbelief: “The <em>laundry room</em>?”</p><p>Mush rolled his eyes. “That’s what I says, ain’t it?”</p><p>Albert looked at David askance. “What were ya doin’ in there?”</p><p>Race swatted the confused boy’s uninjured arm. “It’s the <em>laundry room</em>, Al, take a wild ass guess.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up, Race. I knows the general function.” Albert threw back along with a retaliatory smack. “I mean what was so important to do that youse doin’ it while beat to hell?”</p><p>David crossed his arms, uncomfortable at the attention. “I’m not that bad. And I…I was just washing clothes?”</p><p>Now Race swatted David. “We know what laundry is, Davey. No need to get smart.”</p><p>“I’m not– I wasn’t trying to,” he apologized.</p><p>“Wait, whose?” Elmer asked. He’d abandoned his previous cleaning efforts to join the conversation.</p><p>David shrugged. “Mine, yours, the other boys. I don’t know.”</p><p>Les perched beside him. “I just grabbed whatever wasn’t on people. They all looked pretty dirty.”</p><p>“We only got the clothes from this floor, though,” David added. “I don’t know if there’s another floor of beds.”</p><p>“Okay…” Race drew the word out long and slow. “Why bother though? Why not wait till you get home so your Ma can do yours?”</p><p>“I didn’t want them to stain so I had to do it quickly.”</p><p>“What was going to stain?” Elmer asked.</p><p>David gestured vaguely with one hand at the rags and such that surrounded the group: “The dirt, the blood–”</p><p>“Blood like the blood that’s coming out of your side?” Mush interrupted.</p><p>“What?” Race manhandled David’s arms away from his torso and peeled up his stolen undershirt. At finding the bandages he made an affronted noise. “Jesus, Davey, why didn’t you say somethin’?”</p><p>“It’s just a few scratches. It looks worse than it is. I already wrapped it.”</p><p>Race could have given Les a run for his money with how hard he rolled his eyes. “Sure. Did a shoddy job, too. This bandagin’ ain’t gonna last the walk outa the buildin’. Didya at least wash it?”</p><p>David sighed. “Yes, I washed it, Race.”</p><p>“Don’t get snippy, I hafta check.” Race said. He grabbed a rag out of the nearby bowl and wiped down his hands. “Take ya shirt off so I’s can work”</p><p>David paused, looking over to his little brother, who was watching him intently. David really hoped the bleeding had stopped.</p><p>Elmer, thank <em>god</em>, caught on. “Hey, Les. While Race is fixin’ up your brother wanna help me move this stuff?”</p><p>Les’s face scrunched up. “Not really.”</p><p>Elmer just laughed. “If you help me quick, I’ll teach ya how to swear in Polish.”</p><p>“I can already swear in Polish. I learned from Sarah,” Les answered but he hopped off the bed.</p><p>As Les made to follow, David felt obligated to ask: “When did Sarah teach you curse words?”</p><p>“I said I learned them from her, not that she taught me,” Les said with a grin, and with that he ran after Elmer.</p><p>The three boys around him laughed and David shook his head.</p><p>“Your brother’s really somethin’,” Albert said, leaning back against the headboard.</p><p>Mush nodded. “He’s a hoot.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s a real swell kid. We’s all in agreement. Great. Now,” Race poked David’s shoulders in time with his next two words, “shirt. Off.”</p><p>Mush chucked and settled onto the bunk beside them. “Best do it before he tears it off’a you. Race is pushy when he’s in full doctor mode.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’s pushy ‘cause none of youse fuckin’ <em>listen</em>.” Race said.</p><p>David was already pulling it over his head. He passed it to Mush and asked: “Would you be able to find out who that belongs to? I’m afraid I borrowed it without asking.”</p><p>Mush flipped it inside out on the hem and shook his head. “Keep it. It’s mine. I got another and yours’s probably still soaked. Just give it back later.”</p><p>“No, Mush, I can’t–”</p><p>A hand clapped him on the back of the head. “Davey, would you stop movin’ for a goddamn minute?”</p><p>“Sorry Race, what do you need me to–”</p><p>Race grabbed his shoulders and turned him to sit parallel to him with his back very straight. Then he grabbed his arm by the wrist and moved it to rest on his leg, stretched across his body so that his side was completely open.</p><p>Race leaned across him to point directly in his face. “Now stay.”</p><p>David sighed but did as instructed.</p><p>With deft fingers, the newsie untied the knot David had made only an hour or so earlier and unwound the bandages. As they fell off quickly—so Race might have been right even if David refused to give him the satisfaction—they revealed a few still-bloody scrapes and scratches, a few developing scabs, the overall impression of rawness that he certainly felt, and bruising that he had not noticed before but wasn’t surprised by. All in all, it wasn’t a particularly troubling set of injuries.</p><p>Albert whistled long and low. “Man, they got you bad.”</p><p>“It looks worse than it is,” David tried to comfort him. “Nothing got broken. The only injuries are the ones you can see.”</p><p>Race squinted. “Youse a real glass-half-full kinda guy, ain’t’cha?”</p><p>David could only shrug—he’d frequently been called the opposite by his brother and sister. Or, well, they’d called him a worrier and that was more or less the same.</p><p>Speaking of which, he looked to see if he could spot his brother and Elmer. He was gratified and a little concerned to find he couldn’t.</p><p>He turned back to Race just as the newsie started dipping the cloth into a bowl of clear water. “Is Les–?”</p><p>“Barely a sprain,” Race answered immediately. “Give him a few days and he’ll be good as new.”</p><p>David released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He looked directly at the newsie to clearly say: “Thank you.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Race dismissed. He ducked his head to wipe at the scratches. If David was not mistaken his pale complexion had taken on a rather strong flush. “He’s in better shape than <em>you</em>. How were you runnin’ round washin’ with all this?”</p><p>“I didn’t notice it until I finished,” David answered honestly.</p><p>Race rolled his eyes. “I still don’t get why youse was doin’ <em>laundry</em>.”</p><p>“I had to do it quickly or else the dirt and blood would stain,” he reminded him. “I was wearing a white shirt, remember? Dirt and blood stand out on those.”</p><p>Race rolled his eyes. “You still should have waited until I looked at this.”</p><p>“I had it sorted.”</p><p>“You did not. I’s only just started and I can tell you that.”</p><p>Mush laughed. “If you two are gonna be like this the whole time, maybe Al and I should go somewhere else.”</p><p>“Nope. Too comfy.” Albert had propped himself up against the headboard with the pillow. He had taken off his hat to reveal his vibrant red hair, raked back and off his forehead. The bruises stood out stark on his pale face, but his shut eyes and soft smile attested that his statement was true.</p><p>Mush nodded. “Alright, so if they’s gonna argue theys can go somewhere else.”</p><p>“It’s my bed,” Race said, re-wetting the rag.</p><p>“It’s Al’s peace and quiet.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you don’t agree with me.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course. Davey’s a dummy.”</p><p>“Excuse <em>me</em>, I-”</p><p>A commotion sounded at the far end of the floor. David cut off his sentence and looked towards it. So did the other three.</p><p>“The hell is that?” Mush mumbled.</p><p>“Specs!” one of the boys near the door yelled.</p><p>Sure enough, Specs tore towards them at the end. He was drenched in sweat—rivulets running down his face, white lines of already-dried perspiration standing out stark against his dark skin. His chest was heaving violently. His eyes were blown wide behind his glasses.</p><p>David stood immediately as Specs stumbled and barely caught himself on the bedpost. Mush already beat him to it, though, grabbing the exhausted boy’s shoulders.</p><p>Specs looked around the group and smiled. “Hiya boys. You miss me?”</p><p>“You bastard,” Mush cried, pulling the taller newsie in for a fierce hug. “We thought they’d gotten you.”</p><p>Specs huffed what would have been a laugh if he had the air for it. “Oh, they tried.”</p><p>“Did they get <em>anyone</em>?” David asked quickly. “Did anyone get taken in?”</p><p>“Taken in?” Albert asked.</p><p>“The Refuge, right?” David checked.</p><p>Albert’s eyes widened. “How do you–?”</p><p>“Don’t know.” Specs said in answer to David’s earlier question. “Only ones still in the yard when I left were Jack and Crutchie and you, Davey, and—shit, and Romeo, where’s he-?”</p><p>“He’s here.” David interrupted.</p><p>“<em>Good</em>.”</p><p>“And he’s doing well,” David said, turning to Race who nodded once before turning back to Specs. “How about you lie down?”</p><p>Specs wheezed a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”</p><p>He took a shaky step forward, gripping the bed post tight. Mush and David narrowly caught him as he crumpled. Together they settled him on the bunk. Mush sat at the foot of the bed and started untying the other boy’s shoes while David repositioned the pillow behind him.</p><p>“Good?” David asked.</p><p>Specs nodded, chest still rapidly rising and falling, but starting to settle.</p><p>David shifted the pillow a bit more so that he could rest his head more. Or he was about to when two hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back sharply.</p><p>“Okay, now that <em>Specs</em> is good, would you sit down.” Race punctuated the last word by forcing David back on the bed beside him. “We ‘ppreciate it and all, but cut it out until you stop bleedin’ and go getting’ scabs everywhere.”</p><p>“Cuts are supposed to scab.” David pointed out.</p><p>“And <em>you</em> were supposed to have cleaned up earlier, but all the dirt here says different.” Race grumbled.</p><p>“Well, I’m sorry, I was rushing because-”</p><p>Mush groaned. “I swear, Davey, if you start goin’ on about laundry again-”</p><p>“Don’t any of youse start this again,” Albert groaned.</p><p>“I’m not-” David started as Race said “He’s the one-” and Mush threw up his hands.</p><p>“They been like this the whole time?” Specs wheezed out.</p><p>“No,” the three of them answered together.</p><p>Albert rolled his eyes.</p><p>Specs whistled. “Almost glad I wasn’t here.”</p><p>“Youse a charmer, Specs, aintcha? Here.” Race wet another rag and tossed it between the beds. Specs caught it and gave a shaky salute before he started mopping his face up.</p><p>“You hurt?” Mush checked in as he peeled off the teen’s socks with difficulty.</p><p>“Naw,” Specs answered. “Fair warnin’, though, my legs might not be workin’ tomorrow.”</p><p>“I’ll say.” Mush said, twisting his leg to show the rest of them the newly revealed blister that took up most of his heel. “How far did those schmucks run ya?”</p><p>“Well…” Specs took a big breath in and out, probably just to revel in the fact that he could, “the Bulls chased me almost to Harlem ‘fore I lost ‘em. Jesus theys didn’t give up fast. Then when I was coming back some folks started goin’ at me for bein’ in ‘the wrong neighbourhood’ so I had to run again.”</p><p>Mush grimaced sympathetically. “Shit.”</p><p>David grimaced too. He’d managed to avoid such things so far—he’d been warned about the consequences of speaking Yiddish outside the house by his father in an effort to save his children from the pain he’d endured one to many times. And David usually got away with walking most roads by keeping his head down and his uniform clean. Specs did not have such a luxury.</p><p><em>We just have to be careful. It happens.</em> That was what his father used to say in explanation.</p><p><em>But just because it happens doesn’t mean it’s right.</em> David would answer.</p><p>Lately <em>right</em> seemed to hold little traction.</p><p>Race groaned. “Davey, if youse don’t quit twitchin’ I’m tying you to the bed.”</p><p>And with that proclamation, Race put a firm hand on David’s shoulder and once again dabbed at his side.</p><p>“Now that youse both being properly fussed after, can we go back to the earlier point?” David looked over to see Albert studying him. “Davey, how in the hell do <em>you</em> know ‘bout the Refuge?”</p><p>“Jack told me,” he answered.</p><p>“He did?” The four boys exchanged a look that spoke a million words David had not reference for. Mush coughed and continued: “Jack don’t usually talk ‘bout it.”</p><p>“Well, that Warden—um…” David tried to rack his mind for the twentieth-or-so name he’d been told two days ago, “Spider, I think?”</p><p>“Snyder?” Mush said faintly.</p><p>He nodded. “Yes, sorry. Warden Snyder saw us selling on the corner of Duane and…chased us? It wasn’t entirely clear what was happening. Jack just grabbed us both and told us to run. We lost him around the Bowery and hid in the theatre for a while. Les and I headed home after waiting for about fifteen minutes. Jack stayed behind, but I’m not sure when he came back here.”</p><p>“He <em>came back</em> ‘round midnight,” Mush grumbled. “Told us he took you to the theatre, talked ‘bout a pretty girl, sloughed off all our other questions, and went to bed. He <em>definitely</em> didn’t say anything about the <em>Spider</em>.”</p><p>“’Course he didn’t.” Race’s wiping was much more aggressive and it was all David could do to not wince at his force. “Not like we’s his <em>friends</em> who could maybe help him if he’d just let us sell with him for one goddamn day so’s that he don’t have to go trompin’ all ‘round the city avoidin’ anythin’ that moves to fast and lookin’ over his shoulders every goddamn second, Jesus <em>fucking</em> Christ.”</p><p>“Race, I think you’re takin’ off skin and I don’t think Davey can stand to lose no more.”</p><p>“What? Oh, shit, sorry Davey.”</p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p>Race was considerably gentler as he finished up and reached for the bandages.</p><p>“Look…” Race said, eyes never leaving the roll of white cloth. “The refuge…it ain’t a good place for any of us, but it really ain’t a good place for Jack.”</p><p>David remembered the wild fear in Jack’s eyes as he’d turned, the almost animal growl of <em>run for it</em> as he’d grabbed David’s arm hard enough that he’d still had a red ring on his bicep when he had gotten home. “Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>Oh</em>,” Race echoed.</p><p>David has suspected so since that moment, but to have it confirmed felt…it was a lot. “So he has been incarcerated.”</p><p>“<em>Incarcerated</em>. That’s a nice word for it.” Mush huffed, hands clenching. “Yeah, he has. He only just got out of his last bout, too. That carriage story? That’s true. That was last Fall. He was in there for almost two months. And that was only maybe months after the last-last time. And that time he was gone way longer.”</p><p>“84 days,” Race said.</p><p>“And we’s pretty sure those ain’t his only times. Jack’s been in and outa there lots and Snyder has it out for ‘im ‘cause of it.”</p><p>“Well, Snyder had it out for him ‘cause of <em>that</em> and also because Jack’s a mouthy little shit at the best’a times,” Race added.</p><p>David winced. “I doubt that endeared him to a man like Snyder.”</p><p>Specs raised his brow: “Endeared?”</p><p>“Um…when you cause someone to like you,” he clarified.</p><p>“Huh,” Specs tilted his head and, as though testing it for himself, repeated the word: “<em>endeared</em>. Anyway, no, he definitely didn’t do that.”</p><p>“This all stays here, by the way,” Race added, tone offhand, as he began wrapping David’s torso. “Not even your brother can know. We only know ‘cause most’a us were here either ‘fore Jack or ‘s long as he’s been a Newsie. Or– for Al here…well Jack told Al for his own reasons.”</p><p>“I knows ‘cause I figured it out myself,” Specs corrected. “Jack ain’t as subtle as he thinks.”</p><p>David saw the change in topic—and the clench of Albert’s fists and jaw—for what it was and nodded in confirmation.</p><p>“The issue is Jack’s real picky about what he tells and who.”</p><p><em>Wait a second…</em> “Are you sure you should be telling me then?”</p><p>“I mean…” Mush tipped his head back and forth, considering, “he’d probably be fine with it?”</p><p>“I don’t like the sound of <em>probably</em>,” David said. “I don’t want to betray his trust.”</p><p>Mush shrugged “We’d be the ones <em>betrayin’</em> him if it comes to a fight, but I think youse is fine.”</p><p>“I don’t like the sound of <em>I think</em> either–”</p><p>“Davey, what we’s tryin’ to say is Jack isn’t gonna tell ya himself–”</p><p>“So you shouldn’t have told me!” David insisted.</p><p>“No, I mean he ain’t gonna tell you himself ‘till it’s too late.” Mush huffed and pushed his hand through his hair. “‘S what happened last time and it’ll happen again. If youse gonna be sellin’ partners you deserve– naw, you <em>need</em> to know this.”</p><p>“Davey, we’s just tryin’ to look out for Jack here.”</p><p>Race’s voice was quiet in a way that completely opposed everything David had seen of him in their short time as acquaintances. But it was the sort of quietness that came from somewhere deep inside. He couldn’t help but feel a little wrong-footed that such honesty had been shown to <em>him</em>.</p><p>“I…alright,” he agreed. “As long as you aren’t telling me anything more than you have to.”</p><p>Mush shook his head in wonder “Youse really is somethin’ else.”</p><p>“And don’t worry. He ain’t to worried about letting folks know he was <em>in there</em>,” Race continued, voice once again strong. “It’s…he just won’t talk ‘bout what happens in there. But we’s seen enough of him and of the other kids that come out to know it ain’t good.”</p><p>“And they may have taken some more in today,” David finished.</p><p>The thought settled in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“They might’ve,” Race confirmed. “Look…we’s can sort that all out. We’ll check later, see if anyone got rounded up. And we’ll keep tabs on ‘em. It won’t be the first time it happened. It won’t be the last. Right now we gotta…we gotta just focus on all’a this stuff. Figure out what happens next.”</p><p>David nodded. Figure out what happened next…where they stood…that was a good start.</p><p>He looked to Race and asked: “Does this count as a fold?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Brooklyn was going to watch our actions today to make sure we didn’t fold.” David reminded him. “Does this count as a fold?”</p><p>Race tilted his head, considering. “Naw, it don’t. We got knocked outa the round. We’ll have to see where that leaves us with Brooklyn.”</p><p>David sighed and nodded. Just a matter of timing. No foresight to be had at this point—he doubted anyone had any idea where anything was left anymore.</p><p>He was quickly interrupted from that train of thought, though.</p><p>“David!” He looked up right as Les ran in front of him, questions flying out of his mouth: “How is he? Is he okay? Does he need stitches? Are you done?”</p><p>“I’s almost done. Keep ya shirt on,” Race answered.</p><p>“Speakin’ of shirts,” Elmer said, apparently having followed behind Les at a much more leisurely pace, “we managed to find this. It’s the closest thing we got to your size—might be a bit short in the sleeves—but it’ll last you till Buttons can fix up your shirt.”</p><p>The newsie undid the brown bundle under his arm and held it up to reveal a beige flannel shirt and David’s vest. He passed both over. The vest was still damp, but the shirt was dry and soft from wear. David couldn’t pull his eyes from either.</p><p>“And…there we go, you’s repaired,” Race announced as he tied off the bandages. “Oh, hey, I was wonderin’ where that one went to.”</p><p>“Buttons said the vest is fine—thicker material or somethin’—but he said he ain’t gonna touch your shirt until it’s good and dry,” Elmer said. “Something about stretching, I think? I ain’t gonna pretend to know.”</p><p>“Sometimes you just gotta let the kid do his thing and assume it’s gonna work out. He’s a real wiz with that needle.” Race said the compliment like a fact. “And I think this shirt’ll be fine. It was big on me last winter, so it oughta fit you. Well, it’ll be big on you too but I’s finds that way better than small. Lemme tell you, it’s gonna be nice to finally have someone else ‘round that’s a beanpole.”</p><p>“I’ll say,” Albert piped. “You two can stand next to each other and you’ll finally be wide enough to cast a shadow. Then we’s can get out of the heat every once and a while.”</p><p>David tore his eyes from the clothing, finally breaking his reverie: “I can’t take this.”</p><p>“Sure ya can,” Mush clapped him on the shoulder. “Youse a Newsie now. Newsies take care of their own.”</p><p>David didn’t know what to make of the lump that brought to his throat or the warmth in his chest—he certainly couldn’t think of anything to <em>say</em> to that—so he just nodded.</p><p>Elmer leaned against the bedpost. “Speakin’ of which, how is he lookin’?”</p><p>“He’ll live, but he definitely didn’t do himself any favours movin’ about like he was doin’. Don’t know what he was thinkin’ with that stunt.”</p><p>“Wait, what did you do?” Specs asked.</p><p>“He carried Romeo back and then went and did laundry while bleedin’ out.” Mush explained.</p><p>“I was not <em>bleeding out.</em>” David had to correct.</p><p>“You were bleeding.” Les said.</p><p>David sighed. “Barely.”</p><p>“Wait, you carried Romeo back, too?” Albert said. “Jesus, Davey, you wanna die?”</p><p>David laughed. “No.” The implications hit him. “No! Could you please <em>not</em> say that in front of my nine-year-old brother!”</p><p>“I’m almost ten.” Les protested, though he looked a little pale.</p><p>“Shit, sorry, kid.” Albert said with a grimace.</p><p>David closed his eyes. “And the language?”</p><p>“Oh, shit- I mean… shoot?” Albert said. “We gotta do that too?”</p><p>“Yes,” David said.</p><p>“No.” Les said at the same time.</p><p>“Okay,” Specs interrupted. “Romeo I get– and thanks, by the way, since I know they probably haven’t bothered to say it–” “Hey, I thanked ‘em right away!” “It’s not like we <em>knew</em>” “–but what I don’t understand is why were you in such a hurry to do <em>laundry</em>?”
</p><p>Oh great. This again.</p><p>David sighed: “I had to make sure the clothes didn’t stain.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” Race muttered.</p><p>David turned on him. “Look, the answer isn’t going to change if you all keep asking me the same question.”</p><p>“Okay, hold on a sec,” Elmer said, crossing his arms, “here’s where I’m still stuck. That makes sense for <em>you</em>. Your clothes are all nice and stuff. But why’d ya wash <em>ours</em>?”</p><p>“They were going to stain too.”</p><p>Race looked sharply from where he was packing things up. “What? No?”</p><p>David could feel himself slipping into that condescending tone he hated. “What do you mean no, do your shirts magically <em>not</em> stain?”</p><p>“Oh, they stain alright.” Albert commented, pointing out an unidentifiable brown splotch at the collar on his shirt.</p><p>David also pointed at the splotch, a perfect illustration for his argument, and asserted: “If you’d washed it right away, then that wouldn’t have happened.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, we get that,” Race said, almost as condescendingly as David, “but still you should have waited.”</p><p>“I. Could. Not. Have. They. Would. Have. Stained.” He said. “Do you want that?”</p><p>“Course not.” Race shot back.</p><p>Specs hummed. “The littles mighta gotten away with it—really add to the whole sympathy sales angle.”</p><p>“Maybe, but it’d scared off <em>our</em> usual folks if we started sellin’ papes lookin’ like prizefighters,” Race said. “Probably think we been doin’ back-alley brawls for extra cash.”</p><p>David sighed. “Then what’s the problem?”</p><p>Race gestured emphatically. “It’s just that <em>ya didn’t have to</em>.”</p><p>This was what going crazy felt like: “I <em>did</em>, because <em>as I’ve said</em>–”</p><p>“Davey, I <em>knows</em> what you’ve said. My <em>point</em> is–” Race cut himself off with a sharp wave of his hand. “You know what? Never mind: thanks, but next time, at least wait enough to get your side fixed and put some ice on your face. That’s gonna bruise somethin’ fierce.”</p><p>The words were out of David’s mouth before he could stop them: “Yeah, well, a black eye is cheaper than a new shirt.”</p><p>A snort came from the headboard. They turned to see Albert, hand clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Sorry. Sorry, that ain’t funny.”</p><p>Mush was grinning too. “It’s been a long day; I think all our humour’s busted.”</p><p>“And our faces.” David agreed despite himself.</p><p>Albert snorted again and turned away with his shoulders shaking.</p><p>“Huh,” Elmer reached over and poked the giggling redhead’s side, “I think ya broke him.”</p><p>“What?” Les demanded. “What’s so funny.”</p><p>“Absolutely nothing, Shortstack.” Race said, smirking. “Al here just wouldn’t know a joke if it bit him in the ass.”</p><p>“Shut up!” Albert whined. “Jesus, Davey, where’d ya learn those?”</p><p>David grimaced. “I’m sorry, they just came out.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t’a thought you one for gallows humour,” Mush said.</p><p>David sighed. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare.” Race gestured at Al, who wiping his eyes. “I ain’t seen him this worked up in ages. I knew there was somethin’ I liked ‘bout ya.”</p><p>“What about me?” Les demanded.</p><p>Race laughed. “Shortstack, I liked ya the minute ya managed to swindle Jack into almost even-splitting yours earnin’s before <em>beginnin’</em> your first day as partners. Youse was made to be a Newsie. Train up your brother, why don'tcha and then we can keep you both.”</p><p>Les preened at the compliment.</p><p>Albert, finally having gotten control over himself, added: “Also, are we not gonna mention that Davey just out-argued <em>Race</em>?”</p><p>David was certain he was blushing. “Sorry.”</p><p>“No, Davey, you don’t understand,” Albert said. “This might be the best news I ever got. You know how much he argues? Least now I can pass him off to you.”</p><p>“How dare you,” Race said with a grin.</p><p>“Racetrack Higgins,” Albert put his hand over his heart, “you’ll always be my buddy, my pal, but we both know it’ll be nice to have someone else here that I can tap out to when you just wanna have a spat ‘bout nothin’ just to have a spat.”</p><p>“Fair.”</p><p>“Elmer, ya can’t answer <em>for</em> me.”</p><p>“I’m not answering for you, I’s stating a general fact.”</p><p>“You’re are all such–”</p><p>Mush shushed him. “Better watch your mouth there, Race, we’s got sensitive ears present.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>sensitive</em>!” Les protested.</p><p>Mush raised his hands in surrender. “Course not, I’s talkin’ ‘bout your brother.”</p><p>“Oh for–” David smiled and put his head in his hands as the newsies erupted into laughter and a warm feeling bloomed in his chest.</p><p>..........</p><p>With lots of farewells—somehow still fond and boisterous despite the events of the day—the brothers set off back home.</p><p>They got stares the entire way, so many even Les noticed. David pretended not to because he did not think he could explain them to his brother.</p><p>Sarah was waiting for them outside of the building, sitting on a large wooden crate by the stairwell. Even from yards away, David could see the exhaustion laced into his sister’s bones. It was there in the tightness of her shoulders, in the strands escaping her braids to float around her face, and in the grimace she smoothed from her mouth but not from her brows. She had never looked more like their mother.</p><p>She gasped at the sight of them and made to stand. He hastened his pace and caught her in a hug, lifting her to her toes.</p><p>“You know,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “when I told you to fight back, I was referring to schoolyard bullies, not publishing tycoons.”</p><p>“You should have been more specific.” David joked, and was rewarded with a snort. He pulled back and nodded his head up towards their window on the third floor—recognizable from the way their mother’s lace curtains caught the sun. “How are they?”</p><p>“Tense,” she answered. “Mr. Hochman told us the news. It’s all over the neighbourhood. He came to check if you two had made it home yet. They sent me down to wait for you shortly after. They…they want to talk to you.”</p><p>“Alone?”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>David sighed. “Alright.”</p><p>She gave him one last hug—quick and tight—before turning to Les with her hands on her hips. “Lesham Mordche Jacobs, have you been starting brawls again?”</p><p>“You’re the worst,” Les answered with a grin.</p><p>“I’m the best,” she corrected, putting her arm around his shoulder and leading him off. “I am so great that I’m going to take you to get some ice for that arm of yours. How did you manage <em>that</em>?”</p><p>David listened as the conversation faded away the further they got. He couldn’t delay any more.</p><p>David headed up the stairs. They felt very long but not long enough.</p><p>He was at their door. The wood was chipped at the bottom—they had stuffed blankets against it that winter, the cold seeping through every crevice it could find. They had spent almost double their usual amount on fuel in February. David knew this because he had done the math earlier that week. Could it have only been earlier that week?</p><p>He took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, pressed his fingers to the mezuzah, and entered.</p><p>“He needs an education—a <em>good</em> education—if he’s to have the means to do good in the world,” his father’s voice rang through the apartment. Loud. Angry.</p><p>David closed the front door quickly.</p><p>“He will <em>lose</em> that education if he is arrested,” came his mother’s voice, also loud, also angry. “Or dead.”</p><p>A loud sigh—the noise was coming from his parents’ room. Through the open door, he could see his father’s foot elevated on the pillows. Almost without thought or direction, he found himself moving towards their ire.</p><p>“They're not <em>dead</em>, Esther.”</p><p>“Not this time.” She was standing at the headboard. David couldn’t see either of their faces.</p><p>“You’re being dramatic–”</p><p>“<em>I</em> am being realistic. You’re the one who’s suddenly decided he should <em>fight back</em>.”</p><p>“He is fighting for what is <em>right</em>–”</p><p>“At what cost?”</p><p>“Well what is the cost if he stops, Esther? Have you even thought of that? If we lose our principals then what do we have?”</p><p>His mother slammed her hand against the wall. “We have <em>each other</em>, is that not–”</p><p>“David.”</p><p>His mother turned at his father’s revelation. “David.”</p><p>They stood motionless, staring. David did too. The air felt thick. Oppressive.</p><p>He couldn’t meet his parents’ eyes. He didn’t know if they were looking to meet his.</p><p>His mother broke the silence: “Your face–”</p><p>David’s hand shot up to his cheek at the mention. “It’s nothing, Mama.”</p><p>She shook her head. “You’re hurt.”</p><p>
  <em>You’re late.</em>
</p><p>David nodded. “We stopped at the lodging house on the way home. We got fixed up there.”</p><p>Her eyes widened. “Is Les–”</p><p>“Just a sore wrist,” he answered. “It’s barely sprained.”</p><p>“Well…” she crossed her arms tight, looking across the room at nothing, before looking back at him with a stony expression, “well, alright then. I–” her gaze caught on his torso and her brows furrowed, “that is not your shirt.”</p><p>David looked down too. Oh, right. “No. My shirt got…dirty. One of the newsies loaned me their old shirt until mine can be repaired.”</p><p>“Oh.” She echoed. “That was…kind of him.”</p><p>David nodded.</p><p>“Here,” she crossed to pick up a blue and white flannel shirt from the hamper—his father’s shirt. He used to pull it on when he was little to huddle in the soft fabric. “Wear this tomorrow and I’ll wash that before you return it.”</p><p>David took it, nodding dumbly.</p><p>“No, go change now,” she ordered. “Before supper. We will eat when your siblings return.”</p><p>David nodded and turned to leave.</p><p>“David.” He turned back. His father was not looking at him when he next spoke. He was looking at his leg. “You’re selling tomorrow.”</p><p>David swallowed his refusal and nodded.</p><p>His father cleared his throat. “Go get ready for supper.”</p><p>David closed their door gently as he left.</p><p>David did as he was instructed: he changed out of his vest and Race’s shirt. He pulled on his father’s. It was wide in the shoulders but it fit nonetheless. Absently, he wondered when that had happened.</p><p>He crossed to the dresser that held their clothes—small and old and weathered like all of the Jacobs furniture—and hung the vest up. He smoothed the wrinkles out with a single brush of the fabric. He thought he could still feel a dampness in the wool, though that was probably just his mind playing tricks on him. It looked almost unchanged—just a slight discolouration almost unnoticeable on the dark material. David flipped the fabric over. The tear had been sewn up with neat small stitches.</p><p>He buttoned the vest carefully, top to bottom, but paused as he reached the last button. The last button, which had been missing since the late winter, snapping off and rolling away as he’d hit the floor hard, snickers erupting around him as he cried out. A small wooden button had now taken the missing last button’s place, and while the unvarnished wood stood out sharply from the dark vest, it was exactly the right size.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is dedicated to the folks over at newsiesquare and hanewsieshcs on tumblr for saving me from the trial of trying to figure out the fight scene logistics and the lodging house layout. MVPs the lot of them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Żal: July 19, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: none</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Żal</strong> <em>n.</em> sadness, regret, sorrow, or grief within specific circumstances, with connotations of disappointment and betrayal. [Polish]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>July 19, 1899</strong>
</p><p>The thing is…the thing is he thought it would work.</p><p>It would have worked if not for…</p><p>Well.</p><p>Heel turn. Man emerges from the shadows. Money trades hands. The room erupts. Hope is lost.</p><p>It’s like something from a book. Like it was ripped from the pages of a melodrama.</p><p>David had never particularly liked melodramas. He’d always preferred stories that were quiet and contemplative. Stories that he could sit with and linger on, stories that revealed themselves over time. Melodramas and tragedies also lingered, but they lingered like a knife in the stomach, the weapon left in the wound.</p><p>Or, in this case, a knife in the back.</p><p>Maybe that was why none of it felt real. Maybe that was why he was sitting on the roof of their building, lost. He had sent Les in as soon as they got home. His little brother’s pain was so deep that it surpassed sadness and went straight to exhaustion. David hadn’t gone in himself. He couldn’t face his parents. He trusted Les would let them know the situation. Les was always better at talking through his hurts. David didn’t have that skill. Instead, he stared up and out at the sky, trying to sort his feelings into words and finding them unidentifiable.</p><p>He was exaggerating. He had one word.</p><p>Betrayed.</p><p>Well, two words.</p><p>Betrayed. Disappointed.</p><p>Alright, three words.</p><p>Betrayed. Disappointed. Anguished.</p><p>Okay, he had many words. Many words and many identifiable feelings, but they were all so entwined that trying to separate them felt like pulling a loose thread, and pulling that thread caused the edge to fray, revealing dozens of other loose threads, and pulling those revealed dozens more, and pulling those revealed dozens more, until he was left tangled in them, unable to escape.</p><p>Naming the feelings did not help. He still had them. He still couldn’t make them go away.</p><p>And yet part of him, the part that betrayed him just like Jack had betrayed them all, wanted to look over and see Jack climb up the fire escape and tell him it was all a lie. A prank. <em>Davey you should've seen your face, we sure got you!</em> David could stand the embarrassment if it meant that none of this had been real.</p><p>Shoes scuffed behind him—a conscious effort to make noise and avoid startling him.</p><p>Sarah sat down. Her fingers circled his wrist. He unclenched his fist and her hand ghosted down to hold his, palm on the back of his hand, fingers wrapping round, thumb tracing the half-moon indents his nails had left behind.</p><p>“I almost burned down the factory today.”</p><p>David forced a smile. “Oh really?”</p><p>She hummed. “Winnie stopped me before any damages were done. It was agreed that I should keep to tallying.”</p><p>“Was the decision unanimous?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Well, Laura was rather upset that she couldn’t keep counting, but she also couldn’t keep count, so…”</p><p>It was enough to make him laugh. It was barely a huff from his nose, but it lifted some of the weight that had pressed down on his stomach since they’d left the theatre. He still couldn’t quite breathe right.</p><p>Sarah tilted her body towards him until their sides were flush. “David…” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>He swallowed once, twice, and murmured. “Me too.”</p><p>“What now?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” David confessed. “I didn’t… all of my plans were based on the rally going well. And on Jack–”</p><p>On Jack being there. On Jack being with them. On Jack standing tall in front of the newsboys of New York and convincing them to be more than they ever dreamed of. On Jack igniting the fire in their stomachs that they had tried to push down. Just like he had done for David.</p><p>David tried to laugh again but it came out as a sob. “I can’t do this on my own, Sarah.”</p><p>“You’re not alone, David,” she whispered. “Whatever happens tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that… you’ll never be alone.”</p><p>David sighed. That wasn’t what he meant, but…</p><p>He sent her a small smile. “I know.”</p><p>A clatter sounded behind them. David froze.</p><p>“Who’s–” Sarah let go of his hand and stood, holding his shoulder to make sure he knew she was still there.</p><p>He shut his eyes tight. <em>It couldn’t be</em>, he tried to tell himself. No. Absolutely nothing he had hoped for happened that day. It wouldn’t be fair if the one wish that got granted was the one he'd wished for out of childish desperation.</p><p>“Davey.”</p><p>He flinched. Hard.</p><p>Sarah’s hand clenched tight on his shoulder. “<em>David</em> has nothing to say to you, so beat it before I beat you.”</p><p>“Look, miss–”</p><p>“Don’t test my patience, <em>Jack Kelly</em>. It has been a long day and I have <em>very little</em> left.”</p><p>Jack continued anyway. “We just–”</p><p>Sarah wasn’t done. “How <em>dare</em> you come here and try to talk to him–”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Oh, so Katherine was here too. “Who are you?”</p><p>“Jack, Katherine, this is my sister, Sarah Jacobs,” David said tonelessly, not turning around. “Sarah, this is Jack Kelly and Katherine Plumber.”</p><p>“A pleasure,” Sarah spat at them. “Now <em>leave</em>.”</p><p>“Look,” Katherine tried again, “we don’t have much time. You have to listen to us.”</p><p>Sarah laughed harshly. “He doesn’t have to do a damn thing.”</p><p>“Davey,” Jack said. “Just… please?”</p><p>Not once in the last three days had David ever heard Jack Kelly say please.</p><p>David stood and turned. Somewhere in the motion his sister had let go of him. He longed for the steadiness it had given him, but he knew he at least had to do this part on his own.</p><p>Katherine stood tall as ever. She no longer stood with her hip cocked or with her head tilted like a dare. She had proven herself—not yet to the world, but at least to him. To the other boys. She knew she didn’t have anything to fear from being here. She knew she was welcome.</p><p>Jack though…. Jack looked a mess. His eyes darted from David to away, out to the horizon, scared to look at anything for to long for fear it would hold him accountable. There was a tightness in his jaw and shoulders. They no longer were at ease like they’d been when he strode towards Weisel in the distribution yard on David’s first day selling. They didn’t have the strength they had held when he’d begged the scabs to reconsider. They didn’t even droop the way they had backstage of the Bowery, the first time that David had realized how heavy a weight Jack’s shoulders bared. They were tight to the point of twitching. Like he was ready to spring out of his skin. Like Jack was ready to run with the money and leave them behind. Like he wouldn’t be there on the roof, barely able to meet David’s eye, if it wasn’t his last resort.</p><p>Maybe David was being too harsh. Maybe he was being too unforgiving. But David felt he had a right to.</p><p>Because Jack didn’t look half as much a mess as David felt.</p><p>The bitter and angry part of his heart, the part David so often tried to ignore, twisted sharply. It twisted so hard it hurt. David did not ignore it.</p><p>Well, if they wanted to <em>talk</em>…</p><p>“Fine,” David said, in that condescending tone that he <em>hated</em>. “I will hear you out. As long as you answer three questions.”</p><p>Jack nodded quickly. “Anything.”</p><p>He took a deep breath, and when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake, he asked: “How much did they pay you?”</p><p>“Hundred and fifty,” Jack answered immediately, pulling out the wad of cash to illustrate.</p><p>David’s eyes were stuck on it for a moment. It was more money that he’d ever seen in his life. It was enough money to get his father a proper doctor; enough to pay their rent for over a year.</p><p>It was enough for Jack to start a completely new life.</p><p>David swallowed and looked back up. “And how many newsies would you say are in the city?”</p><p>“I–” Jack’s brows furrowed. He put the wad back into his pocket, never breaking eye contact. “Thousands, maybe, but what’s–”</p><p>“Oh, I think you can do better than that, Jack.” David said.</p><p>Jack’s mouth snapped shut, nostrils flaring, before the fight drained out just as quick as it came. “I’d guess around eight-thousand.”</p><p>“Okay.” David nodded. “So, you were paid a hundred and fifty dollars to convince eight thousand kids that they should give up on the strike.”</p><p>Jack nodded.</p><p>“The strike that you started,” David continued. “That you led. A strike that got at least one boy—one of your <em>friends</em>—thrown in the Refuge, and got over fifty other Manhattan newsies beaten to a pulp.”</p><p>David clenched his fists in a futile effort to hide how much he was shaking.</p><p>“For a hundred and fifty dollars, you agreed to tell eight thousand kids to give up a fight for what was right, a fight that may be the only thing standing between them and starvation come winter.”</p><p>His former selling partner, the former union leader, had been pale since David had started talking, but with those words he went even paler. David wouldn’t have thought that was possible.</p><p>“A hundred and fifty dollars between eight thousand newsies. Divided, that’s about two cents for each newsie if we round up. That’s four papes—or, I guess, three papes at this new price. Two cents per kid. Three papes each. So, my last question for you, Jack-” His voice broke on the name, and his eyes were burning, but he refused to look down. Jack was going to look into his eyes as he answered. “All the children that you betrayed; would you say that two cents each is a fair evaluation of their worth?”</p><p>Jack looked like he was going to be sick.</p><p>And part of David felt sick that he’d inspired such feelings in the boy he still wanted to call his friend.</p><p>“That’s not fair,” Katherine protested.</p><p>“It’s more than fair.” Sarah said.</p><p>“It is, Ace.” Jack said shakily. “It’s- god, <em>Davey</em>.”</p><p>“I went to school, Jack, remember?” Even to his own ears he sounded tired. Raw. “I was pretty good at it, too.”</p><p>“I’m <em>sorry</em>.”</p><p>He knew Jack was. It was written in every anguished line on the boy’s face, and Jack needed to stop looking at him like that if David was going to finish this conversation with any semblance of dignity.</p><p>“That doesn’t help, Jack.”</p><p>Jack shook his head. “I know it don’t, Davey. I know it don’t change a single thing, and you don’t have to forgive me, but we need you. And…and maybe it won’t change things, but I needed you to know that I didn’t just-”</p><p>Jack’s voice broke off. He looked away, exhaling in a harsh huff. Katherine put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Jack shut his eyes and nodded.</p><p>David absently wondered when that had happened.</p><p>Hand still on his shoulder, Katherine took a step towards David.</p><p>“Jack didn’t just do it for the money.”</p><p>The words were sure. They’d talked about it before they came, David was certain. David hoped so. He didn’t want to think Katherine would stand at Jack’s side and thread her hand into his if that wasn’t true.</p><p><em>God</em>, he wanted it to not be true.</p><p>“Then why did you do it?” David begged.</p><p>Jack opened and closed his mouth. “I…”</p><p>“He threatened him,” Katherine whispered. “My…Pulitzer. He brought Mr. Snyder in to convince the police to raid the rally. He found out about Jack’s arrest record.”</p><p><em>No</em>. David looked to Jack. He was no longer looking at David—his eyes were trained carefully on the edge of the building—but David knew he was trying to hide the uncontrollable residual flood of terror that overtook his eyes whenever he was forced to remember horrors David would never really be able to comprehend.</p><p>“How do <em>you</em> know all this?” Sarah asked.</p><p>“I was there,” Katherine answered quickly. “Anyways, he… he promised to expunge Jack’s criminal record and… yes, he gave him the money. But he said that if Jack didn’t…” she took a shaky breath. “He said that if Jack didn’t agree to speak out, he would lock you up in the refuge.” </p><p>David shook his head. “I– <em>me</em>?”</p><p>Katherine nodded. “All of the boys. He talked about how...about how Crutchie was already in there and how others would follow. But…he mentioned you and Les specifically.”</p><p>“Davey. And his baby brother.” Jack’s voice was empty but the tone of quotation still came through.</p><p>David’s blood went cold.</p><p>His…his little brother.</p><p>David didn’t…David didn’t know what to do with that.</p><p>Sarah did.</p><p>Her hands balled into fists at her side, her face screwed up, and she spit: “Oh, that sick son of a <em>bitch</em>–”</p><p>David sighed “Sarah–”</p><p>“I’m going to kill him, I swear, I’ll kill him–”</p><p>David pinched the bridge of his nose as she turned to start pacing, swearing violently in Polish, then cursing Pulitzer in Yiddish, before finally circling back to English.</p><p>“That <em>motherfucking bastard</em>–”</p><p>He grabbed her shoulders. “Sarah!”</p><p>“Shut up, David,” his sister spit out, wrestling out of his hold. She was twitching, like the anger she had inside of her was bursting at the seams. “I– I…” she threw her hands up and yelled: “<em>AUGH!</em>”</p><p>A giggle echoed in the evening air. David and Sarah both stopped and looked over to Katherine, who had her hand pressed in front of her mouth, but barely hiding her wide smile.</p><p>“Uh…Kathy,” Jack said, squeezing her other hand “You okay?”</p><p>David looked between them “Why would–?”</p><p>Katherine lowered her hand and shrugged. It was dark, but David was pretty sure she was blushing. “Pulitzer’s my father.”</p><p>David lost all the air in his lungs.</p><p>Katherine shrugged again. “I don’t like him very much right now, though, so this is rather...cathartic?”</p><p>“Oh.” Sarah’s voice was high and breathless. “Well, alright then.”</p><p>Katherine soldiered on: “That doesn’t matter right now, though. We have a plan and we need you, Davey, to make it happen. Are you with us?”</p><p>They were all looking at him now.</p><p>David swallowed and looked away. The sky was dark, but he could still make out the lines of skyscrapers against the horizon—inky black on deep blue. David thought about how if the buildings weren’t there as reference, he would be tempted to call the sky black.</p><p>New information, new conclusions.</p><p>“Davey.” Jack was looking at him again. He was looking into his eyes. “I know I screwed up. And I know saying sorry don’t do nothin’ to fix that but… but this…this next move…it might. It might fix <em>everything</em>. But even if it doesn’t fix things ‘tween us, it’s not- I ain’t doin’ this to get you to forgive me. You don’t have to and I don’t expect you to. But we need you. We really need you. So just…please?”</p><p>Sarah grabbed his hand and squeezed.</p><p><em>I’m with you,</em> her hand in his always seemed to say.</p><p><em>I’m with you.</em> The words of a boy—a boy that was desperate and scared and everyone could see it—after Jack had looked him in the eye and told him he wasn’t alone.</p><p>When David looked at Jack now, he saw both the strike leader and the desperate boy.</p><p>David crossed his arms and said: “Well, Mr. President, what’s our next move?”</p><p>Jack’s smile was blinding. “Ace here has a new plan.”</p><p>“It wasn’t enough to shut down The World,” Katherine explained, “so we’re going to shut down New York instead.”</p><p>“How?” David demanded.</p><p>“City-wide strike,” Jack answered. “All the kids workin’ in the city. Newsies, shoe shiners, tailor’s boys–”</p><p>“Factor workers,” Sarah added.</p><p>Jack smiled at her. “Factory workers.”</p><p>“How?” David asked.</p><p>Jack grinned. “We have a banner drafted to spread the word. Our own front page. Don’t even need to worry ‘bout the fold.”</p><p>“Here; take a look.” Katherine reached down and David noticed she was carrying Jack’s satchel and that there was a tube filled with rolls of paper inside it.</p><p>David held up a hand to stop her. “Did you write it?”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>“Then I don’t need to check it,” David said. “Besides, we don’t have time, remember?”</p><p>Katherine smiled wide. She nodded once, sharp. “We know where we can get a press to print them. And I’m going to get a few of my friends from the publishing industry to join us there—they’ll manage the actual printing.”</p><p>“Okay,” David said, pushing his hair back. “Okay, we will need to get them moving as soon as they’re off the press, so we will need a lot of runners. Have you two–?”</p><p>Jack’s expression fell again. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Davey, I can’t…would you go…would you go tell the fellas? I don’t think they should hear it from me.”</p><p>David sighed and smiled as kind as he could before nodding.</p><p>Jack’s shoulders sagged. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Of course,” David said. “I’ll ask for a few of them to head out to the other boroughs while I’m there. We should have a few hundred by midnight, and the rest will hopefully come as soon as we finish printing the rest. Sarah,” David turned to his sister, “could you–”</p><p>“I’ll bring Les,” she confirmed. “Mama and Tata have already gone to bed so it won’t be too hard. And if you give me ten of your kids and a hundred copies I can shut down the textile factories and laundries.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “You’re the best.”</p><p>“Oh, stop,” she said, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“Okay…” David looked around, thinking if he missed anything. “Snyder still thinks you took the deal, right? So we won’t have to look out for him?”</p><p>“He does and we won’t.” Katherine answered.</p><p>Jack was looking at David like he’d never seen him before, but David couldn’t think about that if they were going to finish this.</p><p>“Alright. But they’ll be raining down hell soon if this goes to plan.”</p><p>“Well,” Jack shrugged, “Ace here has another idea that might help with that but she can tell you that one on the way,”</p><p>Katherine smiled. “It’s a long shot, but if we make it…”</p><p>“I trust you,” David said immediately. “So, we’re good?”</p><p>“We’re good, now let’s <em>go</em>,” Sarah huffed, grabbing Katherine’s arm as she headed over to the fire escape, probably about to show the heiress—and, yeah, <em>that</em> was going to take some getting used to—how to climb down the rickety structure without getting her heels stuck.</p><p>David made to follow them, but a soft voice halted him in his tracks.</p><p>“Davey.”</p><p>He turned. Jack was watching him uncertainly.</p><p>“Jack?”</p><p>The other boy crossed his arms, bowed his head, and scuffed his toe along the roof. “Are <em>we</em> good?"</p><p>“I…” David looked down too. He looked up. Jack was watching him again. “Not yet. But we will be.”</p><p>Jack smiled, half crooked, teeth flashing in the dim moonlight. “It’s good to have you back.”</p><p>David reminded him: “I never left.”</p><p>Jack laughed a bit. “That’s not…yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s go; we got a strike to win.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I came into this fic specifically trying to avoid writing David’s response to Jack’s betrayal at the rally, but I have never once tried to avoid doing something and managed to do so, so…here we are.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Auspicious: July 20, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look, if I didn’t use this word at some point why would I bother writing this whole thing?  </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: underaged drinking</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Auspicious</strong> <em>adj.</em> of good omen, favourable [from <strong>Auspice</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1.</strong> (in <em>pl.</em>) patronage, support (<em>under the auspices of</em>). <strong>2.</strong> A forecast; originally ‘observation of bird-flight in divination’: French <em>auspice</em> or Latin <em>auspicium</em> from <em>auspex</em> observer of birds from <em>avis</em> bird].</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>July 20, 1899</strong>
</p><p>They did it.</p><p>They actually did it.</p><p>They won.</p><p>It had been over half a day since it had been announced, the victory ringing out from the balcony of The World offices, ringing out in Jack’s voice. The voice that had heralded the start of the strike heralded the beginning of a new era. The sun had been high in the sky, hot on David’s neck, but Jack was the brightest thing David could see.</p><p>They had bought their papes at a new price—a <em>fair</em> price—and didn’t even have to try and sell some back. Their story would be on the front-page tomorrow, but today it was on the lips of everyone that passed them a penny. They were stars. They’d done it. They’d won.</p><p>But even sitting on a bed in the lodging house, nursing a bottle of beer that Specs had gotten from somewhere, Mush’s socked feet in his lap, watching Race try to teach Albert some sort of jig that Race himself had to much leg for, the joy in the room palpable, David still couldn’t really believe it.</p><p>“No, Al, you gotta put your leg <em>back</em> on the turn.”</p><p>“Race, you ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout <em>turnin’</em>–”</p><p>Mush pressed his toe into David’s thigh and mumbled: “Ten cents says Al trips him before they get to the next half.”</p><p>David turned to look at where the other boy was reclining, two pillows under his back and neck to prop him up so that he could watch the show. His hair was fluffy and looked darker set against the white fabric. A lazy smile stretched across his face. It was tipped up a notch higher on the left side, though, so technically it was a lazy smirk.</p><p>David shook his head. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>Mush tipped his head to the side. “Not a gamblin’ man?”</p><p>“I’m not a fool.”</p><p>Mush snorted loud before throwing his head back, giggling.</p><p>“Hey, peanut gallery!” Race hollered over. “If you two’d pipe down, maybe we’d have some progress over here!”</p><p>“We ain’t the problem!” Mush yelled back.</p><p>Race stuck his tongue out, but went right back to his instruction. Mush was right, though, so David figured Race only gave up on the argument because he knew he’d lose.</p><p>The entire floor was enveloped in cheer and noisy because of it. It had been since the beginning.</p><p>Barely minutes into the celebration, Specs had stood Katherine and Jack up on one of the tables and started singing a very loud rendition of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”—Sniper had questioned why they were calling <em>Katherine</em> a fellow, and Race had simply said she’s the king of New York and the matter was dropped. Around the second verse, Race had found David at the edge of the crowd. Apparently, Race had gotten it in his head that David should be up on the table too. David had tried to politely decline, but Les had sided with Race and started yanking his arm to get him to move, and then Mush had also joined in and decided to settle the argument his way, and then Jack had caught sight of Mush trying to hoist David up by the waist and shouted at him to stop struggling, and the whole thing grew to such a volume that Mr. Kloppman came up to try and get them to quiet down, only to leave immediately as the entire army of Manhattan newsies turned the song against him, and he left with a huff and a shake of his head to the boisterous sound of almost a hundred voices yelling “WHICH NOBODY CAN DENY!”</p><p>Soon after, Smalls and Boots had dragged Les over to the far end of the floor, where the younger Newsies were playing games and eating sweets under the watchful eyes of Elmer, Buttons, and JoJo. Elmer had found David later, letting him know Les was doing well, but that he was sorry for the sugar crash that would be happening later in the day, before darting off at Henry’s call.</p><p>By that point, David had managed to extract himself from the various effusive misplaced thank-yous and settled on a bunk near the fire escape. The spot was ideal for many reasons, the main one being that it allowed him to listen for Sarah’s knock when she arrived from work. It also had the secondary virtue of positioning him right near the breeze, cooling him off as the room went from warm to hot, and the air got stifling. It also allowed him to watch the revels of the boys he’d come to perhaps consider his friends.</p><p>Tommy Boy was leaning against the wall, telling a story out of the corner of his mouth that had Romeo almost doubled over with laughter. Every once and awhile, Tommy would pause and take another sip. His lips were quirked even around the mouth of the bottle.</p><p>At some point, Albert had said something that made Race squawk loudly. He’d pushed Albert to the centre of the room, insisting that he needed to “do his Ma’s Irish blood proud.” Albert had rolled his eyes and protested loudly, but he’d been following Race’s steps and directions since.</p><p>Specs kept flitting in and out of David’s sight, bringing over drinks from wherever he had stored them, sticking around for a story and a quick clap on the shoulder with whoever he passed a bottle to before disappearing. David was pretty sure he kept going back to check on the younger ones, because on one of his returns David caught a glance of a chalk smiley-face drawn on his cheek.</p><p>Finch, Elmer, Henry, Kid Blink, and Sniper were playing cards in the middle of the room—sitting in a tight circle on the floor. David did not recognize the game, but he assumed it involved some form of gambling by the way they were each yelling and swearing. Well, David was pretty sure they were swearing. He knew for certain Henry and Elmer were, and David understood enough French and Spanish to know neither Kid Blink or Finch were saying anything polite, so it was easy to guess the intent behind Sniper’s violent and choppy sentences.</p><p>David couldn’t follow the game. He was too distracted by the freedom they had in saying the words they wanted to in the way they wanted to. Maybe someday–</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>The other thing that distracted David was how…close they all were: Romeo hanging off of Tommy to keep himself upright as he laughed, Race grabbing Albert by the shoulders to reposition him and nudging his feet against his ankles to get him to step the other way, Specs slinging his arm around Tommy’s shoulders as he offered the boy another drink, jostling him until the younger newsie cracked a wide smile, the card players all leaning in, shoulders and legs pressed so tight David couldn’t see the cards.</p><p>It was as foreign to him as Sniper’s words.</p><p>Maybe that was an exaggeration. David knew affection. He knew his sister bumping her shoulder into his and nudging him with her elbow, he knew pulling her close and holding her there. He knew his brother hanging off his shoulder and hugging his waist, he knew grabbing his shoulder so he didn’t run off. He knew his father’s hand on his shoulder and ruffling his hair, and the rare and treasured occasions where he would pull David against him—a different feeling now that David was taller but still welcome. And he knew his mother brushing his hair back with a single smooth motion, he knew stretching out her hands when they seized, and her hand on the small of his back to let him know when she was moving behind him. He knew the deliberate and quick movements they had manufactured with one another to maneuver their tight living space. He knew how they comforted one another—a comfort derived both from the gestures and from their familiarity.</p><p>But it was nothing like the newsies, not like the way they all draped themselves on one another and manhandled each other at the slightest provocation.</p><p>And David did not know what to do now that it was being turned on <em>him.</em></p><p>Mush had come over, half stumbling, more from the tiredness they all felt than any drunkenness, and flopped on the bed. He lay down, reaching over to grab the pillow from the other bed and push it under his head, his shoes nowhere to be seen, and he’d kicked his feet up and onto David’s legs. David had frozen. He’d stared at them uncomprehendingly. Mush had nudged his chin up with his toe, causing David to splutter and Mush to laugh so hard David could feel it shaking the mattress beneath them.</p><p>David figured if he were someone else, one of them, he would have shoved him off until Mush wrestled him, or maybe rested his hand on Mush’s leg too. He didn’t push him off though. David didn’t mind having Mush’s feet in his lap. He was probably tired. And David was sitting where he’d lay his feet anyways. It didn’t have anything to do with the warm feeling in his chest. As it was, he rested his hand by his side and was very aware of the ankle pressed into his thigh, tethering him down just as the breeze helped him breath in the overwhelming cheer of the room.</p><p>Almost directly across from him, Jack, Katherine, and Crutchie had congregated around their own bunk. That itself was another reason why David’s spot was truly ideal.</p><p>Crutchie was the star of the hour. Boys stopped by every few minutes to say hi or check in or tell him a joke. The little newsies raced over to give him tight hugs before running away red-faced. He was still bruised and cut up, wincing when he shifted slightly. David ached when he looked at him. But he also still had his inimitably bright smile. It was a little softer, perhaps, tempered by his fatigue, like the sun shining through a thin cloud that was already moving with the wind.</p><p>Katherine was still there too—of course she was, if she wasn’t there would have been a riot. She had impressed the boys soundly when she revealed she could crack a bottle open on a table and guzzle it down without wincing, and caused a ruckus that had David watching the door for Kloppman when she refused to tell them how she’d learned. In the early stages of the night she had been dragged from group to group, and newsies sang her praises till her face was almost as red as her hair. Now, though, she was sitting beside Jack, shoulder pressed against his. She hadn’t stopped smiling.</p><p>And then there was Jack.</p><p>Jack kept looking out at the room, at the boys, at Katherine and Crutchie when he thought they weren’t looking, as though to remind himself that they were still there and that he was there with them. Each time, there was a glaze in his eyes and a slight downturn to his lips. Perhaps he didn’t believe it. Perhaps he didn’t think he deserved it.</p><p>Earlier in the day, after the strike was won, as everyone was passing off their last few papes, David let himself be pulled back close to Jack. Jack’s shoulders had been ttight as he’d approached. David had passed a paper over to a customer with a smile and accepted the penny, letting the exchange give him the time to find the right words.</p><p>“Hey Jack,” He’d started.</p><p>Jack had ducked his head. “Yeah?”</p><p>“I accept your apology and I forgive you.”</p><p>That made Jack look up sharply. “Oh.”</p><p>David had continued: “And I’m sorry I assumed that you only left for the money.”</p><p>Jack just kept looking at him. Then he shook his head. “You had no reason to think otherwise.”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“Davey–”</p><p>“I did, Jack,” he’d insisted, “I should have known.”</p><p>Jack had smiled crookedly. “Davey, I meant them apologies, but I ain’t doin’ ‘em again so don’t go tryin’ to walk it all back.”</p><p>David laughed. Jack’s smile had grown at the sound. “Alright, Jack.”</p><p>“We good?” Jack checked, punching David softly in the shoulder.</p><p>David smiled, nudged him back and echoed: “We good,” and smiled even wider when Jack laughed at how David mimicked his pronunciation.</p><p>David thought of this as Jack looked around the room—of the tension in his shoulders and the way he still looked a little lost in this new world he’d helped to create. David worked to catch his eye when he looked across the room. It had happened a few times. David would just smile when it did. Jack would freeze and look away. The third time they made their brief connection, Jack smiled back.</p><p>They looked comfortable. Crutchie was lying down—a hard won battle, Crutchie versus the Manhattan Newsies, and a narrow victory—his head propped up with so many pillows he was basically upright. His bad leg was stretched out and across Jack’s leg. Jack had lifted and lowered the boy’s limb methodically and repeatedly until Crutchie finally whacked him. Now he had his one hand resting on Crutchie’s knee. The other was at his side. Katherine’s hand covered it. She leaned over Jack to say something that made Crutchie laugh quietly and respond, making her laugh. Jack watched them with a fond look in his eye and a soft smile on his mouth.</p><p>It was like they were separate from but within the lodging house, undisrupted by their surroundings but still aware and grateful for the people around them. They were in their own little bubble, their own alcove of contentment. It was the only spot of peace in the room and David was itching to go over there and hesitant to risk disrupting it.</p><p>“–and two more to the side.”</p><p>“Race, I swear if you don’t start usin’ the words <em>left</em> or <em>right</em> I’m gonna–”</p><p>That and David wanted to see how this turned out.</p><p>Specs wandered over to them, two more bottles of beer in his hands. He offered one out and Mush grabbed it. Neither of them looked away from the dance lesson through the exchange.</p><p>“How are they doing?” Specs asked.</p><p>“Oh, they’re terrible,” David answered.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how Race heard him, but the boy’s mouth fell open at the remark.</p><p>The lanky blonde raised a hand to his chest and, in an aggressively poor southern accent, called back: “Well I <em>never</em>.”</p><p>David winced. “Please don’t do that.”</p><p>Mush, Specs, and Albert laughed.</p><p>Race looked so offended that David almost apologized. But he paused at the glint in his eyes, a glint David knew well from Les and Sarah. Amused and challenging, baiting him into the only sort of battle he was really comfortable with.</p><p>“How rude. I’s offended.” Race smiled and shook his head. “And here I thought you was a pal, Davey.”</p><p>David took a chance and shot back with: “Friends tell friends difficult truths, Race.”</p><p>He had clearly read the moment right because Race’s smile stretched even wider and he started to mosey over: “Maybe, but <em>pals</em> flatter.”</p><p>David shook his head. “Friend and pal are synonyms, Race.”</p><p>“Don’t go givin’ it a fancy name.” Race griped. “I may not know ‘bout <em>synonyms</em>, but I knows palship and you ain’t doin’ it correct. Get flatterin’.”</p><p>David’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “What are you even–?”</p><p>Race crossed his arms and pouted. “Sweet-talk me, Davey.”</p><p>“I plead the fifth.”</p><p>“No pleadin’ just praisin’.”</p><p>David tried to school his expression back to neutrality and solemnly answered: “It is impressive how quickly you can move your feet, Race.”</p><p>“Oh, really?”</p><p>“I’m not sure it’s natural.”</p><p>“Okay, now you’re gettin’ off the mark, but that’s a good start.”</p><p>“That’s all you’re getting.”</p><p>“C’mon, Davey, just use your big head.”</p><p>“I did. That was all I could come up with.”</p><p>Race contorted his face into a scowl, but the furrowed brows did little to counter his wide smile. “Tryin’ to convince ya to do somethin’ is like tryin’ to convince a brick wall to move, I’ll tell ya that for free.”</p><p>David shrugged. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t pay for such an insight.”</p><p>“You couldn’t afford it.”</p><p>“Even I have a spare penny,” David replied, and covered his smile as Race laughed by taking another drink.</p><p>“Christ, there really are two a’ you now.” Albert groaned.</p><p>David shrugged and ducked his head. “Sorry, Albert. I’ll let you get back to learning how to step out of rhythm.”</p><p>Mush was laughing so hard even his feet were shaking.</p><p>“Hey!” They all looked up and over at Crutchie’s call. “What are you even doin’?”</p><p>“Dancin’!” Race yelled back.</p><p>“Flailing.” Specs muttered—just loud enough for David and Mush to hear—causing David to stifle a laugh while Mush let his ring loud.</p><p>Crutchie laughed loudly too, but his amusement was directed at how emphatically Albert was shaking his head and mouthing ‘No’.</p><p>“Race, I could dance better than that.” Crutchie said.</p><p>“For sure,” Race agreed, “but you ain’t gonna be allowed to shake a leg ‘till August if any a’ us has a say ‘bout it.”</p><p>“Boo!”</p><p>“Finch, shut up and go back to losin’ to Sniper.”</p><p>“Snipe’s cheatin’!”</p><p>“I ain’t!”</p><p>“Naw, Finch, you’re just bad at this.”</p><p>“Stay outa this, Henry, you pinin’-OW! The hell was that for Elmer?”</p><p>“My hand slipped.”</p><p>“It did <em>not!</em>”</p><p>“Hey.” David startled at the new voice next to him. He looked up to see Katherine smiling down at him.</p><p>“Hello,” David said.</p><p>She shifted as he looked up at her. She had a slight fidget in her hands that she managed by doing the motion of tucking her hair behind her ear even though there wasn’t a strand out of place.</p><p>“Help me grab drinks?” she asked.</p><p>David blinked. “I would be happy to… but I don’t know where they are.”</p><p>“You don’t?” he looked over in time to see Specs roll his eyes and sigh loudly. “Davey, why didn’t ya <em>say</em> anythin’?”</p><p>“You were busy,” David reminded him, “and you gave me one earlier so I didn’t need to know.”</p><p>Specs shook his head and pointed over towards a small closet door between two bunks across from them and to the right. “They’s just in there.”</p><p>“Thank you, Specs.” Katherine answered, lifting David up by the arm.</p><p>Mush obligingly bent his legs as the knee to free him.</p><p>“Thank you,” David echoed, following Katherine as she pulled. “If you hear a knock, call me over please, I’m waiting for–”</p><p>Specs just waved. “We got it, Davey.”</p><p>Katherine only let go of his wrist when they got to the closet so that she could pull open the door. Sure enough, there were four crates, half stamped <em>HIRES</em>, half stamped <em>LION</em>. One of each had been emptied, and the dark-coloured bottles glinted in the dark closet. Katherine grabbed three beers and turned to David questioningly.</p><p>“I’ve had enough, thank you,” he answered. “We still need to go home and I have enough to explain to my parents.”</p><p>Katherine laughed. “Alright, suit yourself.”</p><p>David put his hands in his pockets and watched as she easily held the three bottles in one hand and closed the closet door.</p><p>“You didn’t need my help,” he pointed out needlessly.</p><p>She shrugged and smiled, unrepentant. “No. But I have hardly seen you since we talked last night. And I thought I should give you the option to escape for a second,”</p><p>“Oh,” he said. “Thank you.”</p><p>Katherine looked startled. He ducked his head—that had come out a little too sincere.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean… I was alright,” he tried to explain. “They weren’t being rude to me or anything. I’ve been having a nice time. I’m just not used to all this…”</p><p>Katherine nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Me neither. I love it, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been looking for this sort of excitement…<em>god</em>, all my life. But having so much of this so suddenly…”</p><p>David watched as she ducked her head and shifted, free hand reaching to hold her other arm by the elbow.</p><p>Pulitzer’s office had been rather loud when they had confronted him, but it had quickly died down so that every voice echoed in the high-ceilinged room. David had been surprised how neat it was. Even the papers were lined up exactly. David wondered what his home looked like.</p><p>“It must be overwhelming.”</p><p>She looked up at him with a small sad smile. “Yeah.”</p><p>He smiled back and offered the only comfort he could: “Well, you have plenty of time to get used to it.”</p><p>Katherine looked out at the crowd and smiled. David wondered how they all looked to her.</p><p>“I guess I do. Won’t that be exciting.” She looked up at him, and said: “Thank you, David. You’re a very kind person, you know that?”</p><p>David blinked at the non-sequitur. “I…thank you?”</p><p>She grinned but then frowned and squinted up at him. “Is that surprising to you?”</p><p>David frowned. “I mean… I was pretty rude to you when we met.”</p><p>“I was rude too,” she said easily. “We’re not rude to each other now. I choose to focus on that.”</p><p>David blinked. “That’s rather philosophical.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>philosophical</em>.” She said, deepening her voice on the word. “If you say so. Hey, maybe I should start writing that too. Reporter philosopher. Philosopher reporter.”</p><p>“<em>Anyways</em>,” he said to stop her, “I’m glad we had you. Have you. You’ve done so much for this when most people wouldn’t have given the cause the time of day.”</p><p>Katherine scrunched up her nose. “Well, a lot of people wouldn’t trust a female reporter like you all do. Like you did.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” David sighed. Then he heard what he had said. “I mean, I don’t. Obviously. I mean, my sister talks about it. Or complains about it. She complains about it to me. But that doesn’t mean I <em>know</em>–”</p><p>Katherine just laughed brightly, her hand coming to cover her mouth.</p><p>He ducked his head to hide his blush. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” she chided, “I didn’t mean to laugh, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so–” she swept the hand that had been covering her mouth up and down his person.</p><p>“I usually am,” David confessed. “Like <em>that</em> I mean.”</p><p>Katherine arched a brow: “I’m not sure I even know what you mean by <em>that</em>.”</p><p>David was about to clarify but he was interrupted by a voice that he was certain was supposed to be preceded by a warning.</p><p>“David!”</p><p>He looked up to see—<em>oh for god’s sakes</em>—Sarah climbing in through the window.</p><p>“You didn’t say she was coming!” Katherine said excitedly.</p><p>“She was supposed to knock first.” David grumbled as he went to meet her, Katherine on his heels.</p><p>As he was about to reach her, though, Romeo intercepted. “Well, hello, miss. And how can I help you?”</p><p>Sarah looked at David over Romeo’s shoulder, her one raised brow and slight smirk clearly saying <em>this is the sort of tomfoolery you’re throwing your lot in with?</em></p><p>David shrugged.</p><p>Sarah rolled her eyes and turned a sweet smile onto Romeo. “I’m here to see my brother.”</p><p>“You got a brother here?” Romeo said. “I think I’d remember seeing you ‘round here before this.”</p><p>“Romeo.” David tapped the boy on the shoulder. “This is my sister, Sarah.”</p><p>Romeo made a concerning choking noise.</p><p>Sarah raised her hand in greeting. “Evening, boys. Where’s Les?”</p><p>“He’s over with Smalls and Boots and some of the other younger ones,” David answered. “Last I heard they were on their second bottle of root beer, teaching him a card game I could not follow.”</p><p>“Good.” She turned to Romeo. “I was promised alcohol.”</p><p>Katherine laughed, high and melodious. “I can get that for you.”</p><p>“Well, served by New York aristocracy, no less,” Sarah teased, “How can I refuse.”</p><p>She linked her arm in the other’s girl’s and the two went off back to the closet.</p><p>David was about to follow, but a hand grabbed his arm.</p><p>He looked back and saw that the hand was attached to Romeo, who was flushed and harried-looking.</p><p>“Davey,” Romeo hissed, “whys didn't cha say you was bringin’ your sister?”</p><p>David blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the words. He looked around to see if anyone would jump in. Mush and Tommy looked almost as harried as Romeo. Specs was covering his mouth with his hand and looking away. Race and Albert were continuing their frenzied stepping but Race had a smirk, the likes of which made David quite worried.</p><p>“I-Race said I could,” he defended. “And I don’t think it really counts as <em>bringing her</em> if she made her way up the fire escape and through the window on her own.”</p><p>“More importantly,” Mush butt in, “why didn’t you say she was <em>pretty.</em>”</p><p>Must was sitting upright now, and going between looking at David and glancing over to the storage cupboard where Sarah and Katherine had their heads ducked together, giggling softly if the shake of their shoulders was anything to go by. Sarah was pulling out the pins that held her braids—she still hadn’t managed to figure out how to get them not to stab—and each one released another lock of hair. Sarah looked up and over at David and smiled.</p><p>Romeo choked again. Mush’s eyes went wide.</p><p><em>Ah</em>, David smiled, <em>so that was the issue.</em></p><p>“Well, one,” he said, counting off on his fingers, “because this was all rather short notice; two, because that isn’t the sort of comment one says about their sister; and, three, this is funnier.”</p><p>Mush’s mouth fell open. “You–”</p><p>David tilted his head. “I’d love to talk more, but I’m afraid Katherine said Jack needed something.”</p><p>Mush shook his head, his smile growing steadily wider. “Don’t you dare–”</p><p>David frowned and shook his head as he walked away, “I am truly sorry; I can’t disobey direct orders from the Union president. But I promise I will introduce you to Sarah later.”</p><p>“Davey, you little–” Mush called after him.</p><p>David was still chuckling as he approached the only calm in the storm of cheer. Crutchie was still sitting up, his hands folded behind his head, and his legs were in Jack’s lap. Jack was slouched forward over them, braced comfortably on his elbows. Both of them were looking at him funny as he approached.</p><p>Jack was the one that asked: “What was that about?”</p><p>David settled down onto the bed, careful not to jostle it too much. “Mush is upset I didn’t tell him my sister is pretty.”</p><p>Crutchie snorted and shook his head. “Course he is.”</p><p>“Mush’s an idiot if it took him till seein’ her to know that would be the case,” Jack said easily, and before David could ask for clarification, Jack turned back to Crutchie. “You still good?”</p><p>“As good as the last twenty-seven times you asked me,” the boy answered. “If ya really wanted to help me you woulda got me that beer like I asked you too.”</p><p>“Race brought you a beer.”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘cause you were too busy fussin’” Crutchie turned to David beseechingly. “Davey, would ya please tell Jack that bruises can’t be fixed through <em>massagin’.</em>”</p><p>“That would make them worse.” David said immediately.</p><p>Crutchie tore off his hat and used it to whap Jack hard in the chest. “HA!”</p><p>“Oh, fine.” Jack raised his hands in surrender. “Where’d ya put your sister, Davey? I don’t see her.”</p><p> “Your girl is getting her a drink,” David answered.</p><p>Jack smiled dopily at Katherine’s new identifier. David looked over to Crutchie just in time to see the other boy roll his eyes and mock throwing up.</p><p>Jack came out of his mooning to turn a concerned look on David. “How ‘bout you, Davey? You doin’ okay?”</p><p>David squinted at the other boy. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes. “Davey, I may not be near as smart as you, but I can count. We’ve all had a hell of a few days and you’re new on top of that. ‘sides, I feel tired lookin’ at ya. You slept at <em>all?</em>”</p><p>“Yes,” he answered quickly.</p><p>“Geez, you really are a shit liar,” Crutchie said in wonder. “And here I thought Jack was exaggeratin’.”</p><p>Jack huffed. “You ain’t slept a wink have ya?”</p><p>“I have!”</p><p>Jack raised his brows and widened his eyes meaningfully. “Two winks?”</p><p>Two winks- ah. Well.</p><p>The nights following his father’s accident he sort of did. He remembered turning in bed for hours and waking up with the sun and no memory of actually sleeping. The day before selling…well that had been a wash. He’d slept well that night, though, and his father had only needed help using the bathroom once. But he supposed he hadn’t slept well the first day of the strike…or the second. And he definitely did not sleep last night.</p><p>At the moment, David felt like collapsing and running for miles. He was both more exhausted and elated than he had ever been in his life.</p><p>They didn’t need to know all that though, so he just shrugged and said: “I’ll sleep tonight.”</p><p>That earned not only a huff but also a shake of the head. “That’s the best I’m gettin’, ain’t it?”</p><p>“You don’t have to worry about me, Jack,” David insisted.</p><p>“Eh, I do what I want,” Jack said.</p><p>“He will,” Crutchie agreed. “Trust me, if you tell him not to worry, he just goes and does it more and louder.”</p><p>Jack leaned over to punch the reclining boy softly in the shoulder. “Good to know you still got that <em>attitude</em>.”</p><p>“Course I do,” Crutchie said with a smile. “Who else is gonna call you on your shit?”</p><p>“’tween you two and Kathy and I’m gonna have plenty of that now.”</p><p>“You forgot ‘bout Race. And Specs.”</p><p>“Specs don’t–”</p><p>Crutchie snorted.</p><p>“Ugh. Fine. Youse is right. I’m gonna be absolutely surrounded. I ain’t never gonna know a moment’s peace from here on out,” Jack bemoaned. “Not gonna be able to <em>move</em> without one of you giving me sass.”</p><p>David smiled. “Sorry, Jackie. That’s inevitable.”</p><p>Crutchie laughed brightly as Jack groaned again.</p><p>“Alright, wise guy,” Jack said. “And, anyway, this ain’t just me <em>worrying</em>. I’m <em>protectin’ my interests</em>. Need to make sure my partner’s in good shape.”</p><p>David shook his head. “I realize a lot has happened, Jack, but I am a little surprised you’ve forgotten how terrible I am at selling papes. Your time would be better spent making sure Les is well rested.”</p><p>Jack laughed. “Sure, for <em>sellin’</em>, but he ain’t gonna be helpin’ me manage these guys.”</p><p>“Oh, and I am?” David quirked his brow as he took a swig from his own bottle.</p><p>“’course! You’re my Vice President, ain'tcha?”</p><p>David choked on his drink. “I’m <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“Oh, we ain’t do that yet?” Jack turned and hollered at the boys. “Hey! All a’ youse in favour of Davey as Vice President, say Aye!”</p><p>“AYE!” the room roared back.</p><p>David shook his head frantically. “Wait, you can’t just-”</p><p>Race snorted loudly and yelled: “Yeah, we can.”</p><p>“But what if someone else wants to be Vice President?” David tried to argue. “There has to be, you know, candidates and stuff.”</p><p>Race jerked a thumb towards Jack. “Didn’t have all these hang-ups when he was elected, did we?”</p><p>Oh, trust Race to be deliberately contradictory. “Well, no. Of course not.”</p><p>“What do you mean <em>course not?</em>”</p><p>“I–“ Even if he had the skill for it, David doubted he could ever put into words the magnetism Jack had; the passion and rage that bubbled in every word he spoke about right and wrong and justice and survival; the affection and deep responsibility he felt for the boys in the room; the implicit trust he had earned from them through years of hardship and his leadership in spite of it, which was easily regained after his fumble from grace.</p><p>He settled for: “He’s Jack.”</p><p>“And you’re Davey,” Jack answered. “Now drink up, Mr. Vice President, we won ourselves a strike.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have no idea how to do a jig, but that’s okay because neither does Race.</p><p>Lion Brewery was one of the largest breweries in the United States, but closed down in 1944.</p><p>Hires was the first major root beer brand. Pharmacist Charles Elmer Hires (creator of the formula and brand founder) was a teetotaler and very against even calling his beverage “root beer”. I only say this so you know that if I disappear and stop updating it is because his ghost has murdered me for invoking his name while fictionally intoxicating minors.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Schtick: August 20, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Additional chapter warnings: implied period-typical racism and sexism, vague references to corporal punishment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Schtick</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1.</strong> a usually comic or repetitious performance or routine. <strong>2.</strong> one's special trait, interest, or activity [Yiddish, שטיק; also spelled <strong>Shtick</strong>]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>August 20, 1899</strong>
</p><p>“So story goes– TASTE OF HURRICANE! MALLORY LINE STEAMER AT STORM’S MERCY!– story goes that Southpaw-”</p><p>“Southpaw?”</p><p>“Bronx. Legs like sticks, more freckles than skin, mean left-hook– Davey, get her.”</p><p>“Right, sorry. STEAMER SURVIVES TREACHEROUS WATERS! NARROW ESCAPE AS HURRICANE– oh well.”</p><p>“So Southpaw says he saw some Harlem kids sellin’ up in the Bronx and had to run ‘em off back to their own turf but Artie–”</p><p>“The Harlem leader?”</p><p>“That’s the one. Artie says that <em>can’t</em> be the case: no Harlem kids have been sellin’ even near that part of town since Friday seein’ as some lunkhead went and tried to fix the road in this heat. The damn tar is stinkin’ up the whole borough and stickin’ to everything it touches. So Artie figures Southpaw’s just tryin’ to start shit again.”</p><p>“Why would he do–”</p><p>“BRUSH WITH DEATH! HURRICANE HITS STEAMERS! LONE SURVIVORS BARELY LIVE TO TELL TALE! Absolutely! Here ya go. Enjoy!”</p><p>“Jack, no one died.”</p><p>“Didn’t <em>say</em> anyone died, did I? Anyways, the reason Southpaw would do that is that Southpaw is a damn snake that’s gnawin’ at the bit to hit anyone he thinks below him. There’s a reason we send a select few ‘Hattan kids up to the Bronx. Not all’ve ‘em is bad, course, but the ones that are ain’t worth the risk.”</p><p>“…Alright.”</p><p>“Hey, c’mon; don’t go getting’ worked up now. We still got a bunch to sell.”</p><p>“We only have seven left, actually. If Artie knows that his kids weren’t over there <em>and</em> can prove it, what is the cause for concern?”</p><p>“The <em>cause for concern</em> is that Southpaw’s been convincin’ other Bronx kids that there’s a turf war brewin’ and the type he’s convincin’ ain’t the type to listen to Artie.”</p><p>“And that’s why Artie has asked for <em>our</em> help.”</p><p>“Yep. HURRICANE DESTROYS SHIP OFF COAST OF–”</p><p>“Jack!”</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>, geez. So whatcha thinkin’?”</p><p>“Well, I am thinking several uncomplimentary things towards Southpaw, but we’ll have to put those aside. He shouldn’t be part of this at all. If this is between Harlem and the Bronx, this should be kept between the <em>leaders</em> of Harlem and the Bronx.”</p><p>“Ya got a point there.”</p><p>“Right. How about we ask Artie and… is Hunter the one in charge of the Bronx?”</p><p>“That she is.”</p><p>“Thank you. If we get Hunter and Artie to meet together, with at least one of us present for the meeting, we should be able to sort this out quickly. If they each bring two of their own—their second-in-charge and someone else they trust—and we have two Manhattan kids there too, then that will quell any accusations that they made a shady deal.”</p><p>“Could turn into a mess, though. I mean, what’s stoppin’ Hunter from bringin’ Southpaw? Wait, hold that– HURRICANE HITS SHIP OFF OF– ah, <em>shit</em>.”</p><p>“You said that Southpaw tries to go after anyone he thinks is below him. I have a funny feeling that includes Hunter.”</p><p>“You think this is a power play.”</p><p>“I do. I also think we should choose a different headline.”</p><p>“Youse is the smart one, Davey. Which one?”</p><p>“Um… oh. Here.”</p><p>“Hey, I missed that! Look at you; ya really are learnin’. CARNIVAL OF FIRE! FIREWORK SPECTACULAR NEXT SATURDAY NIGHT! Hey, don’t that sound fun. Think we could make it? Oh, thanks Mister!”</p><p>“We will have to see how much the admittance fee costs. FIREWORKS SPECTACULAR! TWENTY-FIRST ANNIVERSARY PROMISES TO IMPRESS! Thank you, sir. Have a good afternoon.”</p><p>“Eh, they’s fireworks. Get to a good enough spot and anyone can see ‘em. MANHATTAN BEACH SHUT DOWN FOR FIREFLIGHT– absolutely! No, thank you both. Hey, you quit lookin’ at me like that. I said fire<em>flight</em>.”</p><p>“Jack.”</p><p>“Don’t think I can’t see your smile, Dave. Y’know, I think youse is onto somethin’ with Southpaw. He’s always been quick to have a go at Hunter. He’d give her a hard time for <em>breathin’</em> if he could think up how.”</p><p>“I know the type. Do think Hunter and Artie will agree to this plan?”</p><p>“Yep. But we better do it Wednesday or Thursday. Probably late so’s that no one thinks we’s is tryin’ to cut into sellin’ hours.”</p><p>“Why is there such a rush?”</p><p>“’Cause the sooner we can shut Southpaw up the better. And we can’t do it Friday ‘cause <em>you</em> definitely need to be there. Hunter and Artie are a good sort, but neither like to go lookin’ like they’s backin’ down.”</p><p>“I… I’m sorry, what does that have to do with me being at the meeting?”</p><p>“Davey, no one calms folks like you do. We get you in there with them we’s done in an hour. We do it without you it’s gonna take till dawn. FIREWORKS SPECTACULAR NEXT SATURDAY! EVENT OF LIGHT FOR ONLY ONE NIGHT! Yep, here ya– oh no problem at all! Three papes comin’ up. Have a great rest of your day!” Jack turned to David with a bright smile. “Ha ha! Sold out!”</p><p>David was too caught up in Jack’s previous statement to join in on the usual end-of-day celebration. “You really think that about me?”</p><p>Jack’s smile dimmed to a confused grin and he tilted his head. “Think what?”</p><p>“I–” David started to say before cutting himself off. “It’s nothing.”</p><p>Jack huffed and prodded his arm. “C’mon, what?”</p><p><em>What?</em> That was a difficult question. David couldn’t really explain why the newsies’ trust meant so much or why it affected him the way it did. Maybe it was that—within a week, maybe even less—had decided to put their faith in him as they continued to develop and strengthen the Union. Maybe it was that he had never expected that the Union’s development would also lead to developing friendships. It had been a month since the strike, and David still wasn’t quite used to the fact of their friendship, much less what came with it—the roughhousing and the ridiculousness he was often pulled into was understandable, yes, but the easy compliments were a whole other matter. As was the confidence they had in him. He wanted to live up to it so he made sure not to let them know how much it shook him. David hadn’t known anything quite like the easy comradery that the newsies had pulled him into, but he knew it was still fragile and new; nothing good would come of questioning or clarifying it.</p><p>He cut off his thoughts with a shake of his head. “Never mind. We better go make sure Les is doing alright.”</p><p>Jack hurried to get in front of David, spinning around to walk backwards so that he could face him as he teased: “And by <em>alright</em> you mean that he ain’t gotten bored after sellin’ his and Crutchie’s papes probably three times as fast as we did and then started gettin’ into trouble.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes, pursing his lips to stop himself from giving in and grinning, and pushed Jack out of the way. “You know him too well.”</p><p>Jack laughed once, a quick bark, sharp and loud. “No, I know <em>you</em>. He’s fine. Crutchie wouldn’t let him get into too much trouble.”</p><p>“It’s the ‘too much’ I’m worried about,” David said wryly.</p><p>His partner laughed again, this time a string of joyful noises rather than an instant. “Let him have it. You don’t turn ten everyday.”</p><p>David shook his head. “Jack, <em>everyday</em> you become older than you’ve ever been and younger than you will be again.”</p><p>“I– geez, Dave.” They stopped as a group of people cut them off. Jack took the opportunity to send him a confused and concerned look. “I ain’t sure if that’s supposed to be heartening or just plain depressing.”</p><p>David pressed his lips tight to control himself so that he could reply mildly: “It’s supposed to be accurate. How you take it is up to you.”</p><p>And with that he continued walking.</p><p>“The hell is that– Christ, you’re messin’ with me, aint’cha!” He ducked to hide his smile as Jack shoved him. “Davey, why ya gotta do that with a straight face? <em>How</em> do ya do that with a straight face?”</p><p>“Practice,” he answered.</p><p>“<em>Practice</em>.” Jack mimicked. “Don’t know how we ever thought you wasn’t just as bad as the rest of us.”</p><p>David shrugged. “That’s on you.”</p><p>“On us, huh?” Jack huffed. He smiled and shook his head. “Fine. C’mon you clown, let’s go get the man of the hour.”</p><p>“Please don’t let him hear you call him that; I’ll never hear the end of it.”</p><p>“Well you’d deserve it,” Jack replied, poking his shoulder with an accusatory finger. He thrust his hands in his pockets and tilted his head back  as he said, in the oddly refined accent he always employed when teasing David: “<em>It’s supposed to be accurate</em>, Jack. <em>How you take it is up to you</em>, Jack.”</p><p>David was still chuckling as they turned the corner. Just a few yards in, Les and Crutchie were sitting on a stack of old crates, shaded by the side of the building, leaning over so that they were almost flat on their stomachs, fingers poised to flick two small stones.</p><p>“How ‘bout closest to the puddle?” Crutchie was saying.</p><p>“But you can’t go in it,” Les added.</p><p>“Oh, tricky. I like it. Right, close but not in.”</p><p>The two flicked their pebbles out, which clattered as they ricocheted off the sidewalk. One hit a sharp crack in the concrete and rattled to the side before stopping just a few inches from the puddle. The other bounced once, twice, three times, and then plopped right into the water.</p><p>“YES!” Les yelled, pumping his fist in the air.</p><p>Crutchie threw his head back and let out a long and drawn out groan. “How are you so <em>good</em> at this?”</p><p>“You can’t aim, that’s how,” Jack replied, announcing their presence.</p><p>They both turned towards them. Crutchie smirked and, and in an exaggeratedly low voice said “Oh, hello you two. How are you doing? Sorry for making you wait so long it’s just me and Davey took forever to sell our papes because I smell and have a charcoal smudge on my face that looks like–”</p><p>“Wait, what?” Jack’s hand flew up to his cheek and the other boy cackled.</p><p>Jack let out an affronted noise and lunged. Crutchie was too quick, though. He hopped off the box right before Jack’s hand shot out, holding onto his former seat with one hand while the other grabbed his crutch and held it up like a sword.</p><p>“Gotta be faster than that!”</p><p>Jack just raised a brow and grabbed the crutch, pulling with a sharp tug that sent the other boy tumbling towards him. He caught Crutchie easily, shifting his grip to hold him around the shoulders while the other arm descended to poke him mercilessly in the side.</p><p>“Alright! <em>Alright</em>, you win!” Crutchie yelped.</p><p>Jack deposited him back safely on his feet, patted his head, and turned to Les, who was laughing at the whole scene. “And here’s the man of the hour. How’s ten-years-old treatin’ ya?”</p><p>Between his giggles, David’s brother answered: “So far it feels a lot like being nine-years-old.”</p><p>“Geez, alright then– Wait. Hold on one second. Are you givin’ me <em>sass</em>, Les Jacobs?” Jack looked up to squint accusingly at David. “You taught him that, didn’t’cha?”</p><p>“I did no such thing,” David answered.</p><p>Jack smirked and shook his head. “No wonder you don’t like me lyin’. It must smart to see other folks doin’ so well at something’ you’re so bad at.”</p><p>David’s mouth dropped open at the accusation as the other three laughed. “I– I am not even going to dignify that with a response.”</p><p>“Just did!” Jack said in a sing-song tone.</p><p>He actually did not dignify <em>that</em> with a response. Instead he turned to his still giggling brother. “How did you do today?”</p><p>“Good!” Les said as he reached into his pocket.</p><p>“Well,” David corrected automatically, holding out his hand for the change.</p><p>Les made a face but didn’t argue, knowing not to distract David as he counted up their daily income.</p><p>He hadn’t lied; they <em>had</em> done well. David was grateful to see a few dimes and nickels mixed in with the pennies—just as Crutchie had assured him there would be when he had asked to borrow Les for the day. David reached into his pocket and pulled out his take, carefully depositing both on top of the crate on which the two of them had been sitting. Without looking up he held out his hand and Jack dumped his pile of pennies into it. David gave him his seventy-five cents in return before resuming his count.</p><p>Ninety cents total. Forty-five cents each.</p><p>David scooped his and Les’s share back into his pocket and passed Jack his earnings.</p><p>“Good, now let’s <em>go</em>.” Les said, pulling David’s arm to get him to start moving towards the promised celebration.</p><p>About two weeks earlier, Jack had sidled up next to David after a day’s selling and asked, quickly and consecutively, when their birthdays were and whether they were busy next Friday night. David had answered, quickly and consecutively, that his and Sarah’s birthday was November 14th—a point that later led to a very long conversation of what it was like to be a twin that got so many of the others involved that David had to apologetically direct all the questions towards Mike and Ike so that he could get home on time—and that Les’s birthday was August 20th, and, yes, they were busy every Friday evening. Saturdays as well. Jack had nodded, told David not to make any hasty plans, and left it at that.</p><p>Three days later, Jack had approached David with an offer.</p><p>As it turned out, the Manhattan Newsies of Duane Street Lodging House had developed a system. As a consequence of earning maybe 35 cents a day, trying to get birthday presents for everyone was next to impossible. Another sad fact of life in the lodging house was that many kids there did not know their birthday. Some just didn’t like theirs anymore—it happened, Jack had told him, and they didn’t question it when it did. Instead, they had a monthly celebration. One day a month, Kloppman would take charge of the much younger children and the older newsies would go down to Jacobi’s, and buy lunch for those with birthdays that month.</p><p>Jack had been kind enough to arrange for the August birthday event to be held on Les’s actual birthday.</p><p>And Jack had assured David that Les’s lunch was covered.</p><p>Okay, no, Jack had insisted Les’s lunch was covered. Repeatedly. Through many arguments. And eventually he had trapped David in a bet that David was <em>absolutely sure</em> he had fixed because there was <em>no way</em> Race and Albert had gone from not being able to do a jig to being able to waltz in <em>less than a month</em>– in any case, Les was getting lunch from the newsies with the newsies for his birthday.</p><p>David’s pride did not like this plan.</p><p>David’s worry was secretly thankful.</p><p>It had been a good day today, but they hadn’t had many. And with September on the horizon…</p><p>In any case, he was grateful. Though the Jacobs had been working hard, he suspected the birthday dinner that waited for them at home would lack its usual levity. David’s only hope had been his and Sarah’s ill-advised present of a sword and shield fashioned out of scrap wood. Now Les would also get to spend the afternoon with a bunch of rambunctious newsies—the perfect recipe for the sort of joyous disaster his brother treasured.</p><p>David hoped the Hochmans would be there when they got home. Les deserved one of Mrs. Hochman’s tight hugs. He hoped the Kleins would be there. Mr. Klein loved Les and Les loved Mr. Klein—mostly because Mr. Klein always managed to tease David until he blushed. Les loved it when people teased David until he blushed. David also hoped the Kleins might bring his brother some treats for his birthday. David wasn’t sure how his mother would manage to make a cake, seeing as they had been depleting their sugar so quickly David had started gulping down his tea black and hot so that he wouldn’t have taste it but still had something in him to wake him up in the mornings–</p><p>“Davey!”</p><p>David startled as a hand yanked his arm. He looked back, heart beating wildly. Jack was laughing but his eyes were concerned.</p><p>“You almost missed the turn.” He explained, pulling David’s arm again to propel him down the right road.</p><p>“Oh.” <em>Thinking too hard again.</em> He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Sorry.”</p><p>He let his longer legs carry him ahead of where Crutchie and Les were walking to get the door. Les hurried inside, followed closely by Crutchie who bowed his head to David as he entered, and finally by Jack, who slung an arm around David, forcing him to slouch down as he carried him in through the entrance.</p><p>David smiled and pushed the other boy off of him. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Jack just laughed. “Gotta make sure you don’t try and run off again.”</p><p>David gave him another shove for good measure.</p><p>In the month since the strike, David had easily grown to love Jacobi’s Delicatessen as much as the other newsies. It was partly just the quality of the atmosphere. On these sunny summer days, they didn’t even need the lights turned on. The sunbeams streamed into the deli, catching the fine haze of chalk dust that signaled Mr. Jacobi had already written up the dinner specials. It was partly an extension of the fond affection Mr. Jacobi himself inspired, with his wry humour and unfailing kindness at allowing their loitering in the interim between the lunch and dinner rushes. With his warm brown eyes and smile lines feathering his temples, he was a comforting figure that provided them many kind and cheerful greetings as well as enough water to fill the Hudson. He didn’t say so outright, but David knew he loved the boys. He showed it in little gestures, though, like hanging framed copies of the front-page strike story and the Newsies Banner above their usual table.</p><p>The others had already congregated at said table, and Katherine was holding court. The boys listened, enraptured, to her story. It was probably about her co-worker, who David only knew as “That Idiot from the Third Floor”, judging by the expansive hand gestures and exaggerated slouch she was affecting. As David and Jack made their way to the back of the room, the group burst into loud laughter. Even Mr. Jacobi was chuckling as he swept.</p><p>Race was the first to catch sight of them and he stood with his arms raised: “About damn time!”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Quit your whining, we’s here now,” Jack called back, crossing the room to put his arm around Katherine’s waist and kiss her cheek.</p><p>Les and Crutchie immediately turned to each other and pretended to gag. David coughed to stop himself from laughing.</p><p>“Lucky for you your girl here is entertaining,” Romeo said.</p><p>“<em>His girl?</em>” Katherine protested. “Maybe he’s <em>my guy</em>, ever think of that?”</p><p>The group whooped as Jack spluttered.</p><p>“Whatever either of you is to the other, just be glad you got here when you did, else we mighta started bouncin’ off the walls,” Race said.</p><p>“Please do not get footprints on the walls,” Mr. Jacobi called as he set his broom against the wall and made his way over to the table. “I am an old man. The strain it would put on my back to clean them…”</p><p>Les snorted. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jacobi, they're just kidding.”</p><p>“Well that is good to hear,” Mr. Jacobi said seriously. He winked at David before once more addressing the table at large: “Now, am I hearing right that today is one of those blessed days that you are all transformed into paying customers?”</p><p>In response the boys reached into their pockets and piled the change on the table.</p><p>“Ah, miracles do happen.” Mr. Jacobi said, smiling and patting Mush on the shoulder so that they all knew he was jesting. He swept the change into his apron pocket and turned to Jack. “You have the orders?”</p><p>“That we do. C’mon Davey; over here,” Jack said, gesturing to David with the arm that was not still wound around Katherine’s waist.</p><p>David followed and pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket, with the orders and the costs carefully tallied on the side. He passed it over the counter to where Jacobi was counting out the change. His brow furrowed as he looked over the list, though, and looked back at the change. A pit opened in David’s stomach.</p><p>“I… boys I’m afraid…” Jacobi said.</p><p>“Oh, <em>shit!</em>” Katherine whispered.</p><p>David startled at her uncharacteristically crude language. Her cheeks were steadily getting more flushed as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her change purse.</p><p>“I…uh…” she mumbled, “I sort of forgot.”</p><p>“You <em>forgot?</em>” Jack hissed.</p><p>She huffed as she dug through it, the change rattling as she did so. “Look, Montgomery was being a real sleaze today so I was upset when I came in and they <em>asked</em> why I was upset so I started telling them and then it turned into a whole production and I forgot.”</p><p>Jack shot David a wide-eyed look. David matched it.</p><p>Then it all came together.</p><p>He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as though the pressure might relieve the shame and anger bubbling in his chest. “I know what you’re doing, Katherine.”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied quickly.</p><p>David turned to Jack. “I thought you said this was a <em>monthly planned expense</em>.”</p><p>Jack did not meet his eyes. “It is.”</p><p>“You’re shit at planning, Jack Kelly.”</p><p>“We all knew that.” Katherine said handing Jacobi a dime and a nickel. Jacobi grabbed both, along with the list of orders, looked between Jack and David, and quickly hustled off. Katherine also hurried away.</p><p>“Ace, don’t–” Jack hissed after her, but she was already at Les’s side.</p><p>“Hey, birthday boy!”</p><p>Les beamed up at her, puffing out his chest. “Hiya Kathy!”</p><p>“What did you order?”</p><p>“Pastrami on Rye.”</p><p>“YES!” Henry cheered.</p><p>David turned from the scene to face Jack directly.</p><p>The leader of the Children’s Strike, the President of the Newsboys Union of Lower Manhattan, raised his hands and said: “Okay, look.”</p><p>David crossed his arms.</p><p>Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and tipped his head back to say the next words to the ceiling: “Okay, fine. It is planned. But this month… well, we was a bit short this month. Ace heard us talkin’ ‘bout it and offered to step in, and I’d already been tryin’ to convince her not to buy any presents or nothin’ so she was really happy to do this, and I just…we already had a hard enough time decided to accept it between all of us, and… <em>I</em> knew you wouldn’t go for it and the other guys did too, so…uh…”</p><p>“You were <em>short</em> this month because you added Les’s order to the list <em>on short notice</em>.” David didn’t bother to phrase it as a question. “You were lying when you said that there was no need for me to pay for his meal.”</p><p>“We stretched the truth,” Jack amended. “I… we knew you’d put up a fight–”</p><p>“Yeah,” David hissed, looking over to make sure the others weren’t listening, “and I thought you all would understand <em>why</em>.”</p><p>“We do!” Jack cut in. “We get it!”</p><p>“Then why–”</p><p>“Davey,” Jack stepped closer to him and spoke in a low voice: “We do this every month of every year and no matter what we stick with it. We gotta. We gotta at least have this. And, yeah, some months its real hard, but it ain’t ever been as hard as these last two months. We lost <em>days</em> of pay, and maybe we made up for them some with the new deal but not enough. Not yet. And you can’t look me in the eye and tell me it ain’t the same in your house right now.”</p><p>David clenched his jaw tight and looked down.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jack continued, softer. “We wanted to do this. For Les. For your folks. For <em>you</em>. But it turned out we couldn’t. Kathy could and Kathy wanted to. She <em>really</em> wanted to. She’s part of all this too now—you know she is. And she’s as much payin’ for your brother as she is payin’ for Smalls and Tommy. The thing about these days is we <em>all</em> chip in. If one of us can’t do it one month the rest of us cover. We always do this <em>together</em>. That’s what happened this month and its what’ll happen next month and the month after that.”</p><p>David sighed and kept looking at the ground. Mr. Jacobi had certainly done a good job keeping it clean. It was a little annoying. David would have appreciated being able to focus on something other than the shame that was clawing at his heart.</p><p>He looked back at the group. Somehow his brother had convinced Katherine to give him a piggy-back ride. Katherine was holding up surprisingly well, but Mush was hovering behind them, hands out in case she stumbled or Les slipped. Crutchie was cheering the two on, trying to encourage Katherine to start hopping around to bounce Les, demonstrating the movement himself.</p><p>They all looked so happy.</p><p>He swallowed and sighed. “Okay, but… just this once.”</p><p>“Davey.” Jack smiled and slung an arm around his shoulder. His eyes were so earnest they were hard to meet. David couldn’t look away. “Just this once.”</p><p>Jack led him back to the group just as Mush lifted Les up off Katherine and deposited him on the chair. Jack let go of him only when they got to the chairs between Katherine—who was huffing a little but seemed happy enough—and Les. Jack sat beside her and David stood behind the seat between him and his little brother.</p><p>His little brother who was still standing on the chair, looking down at David with a grin that meant absolutely no good.</p><p>“Is this what everything looks like to you?”</p><p>“Ha ha.” David said tonelessly. “Get down from there before you hurt yourself.”</p><p>Les groaned but let David help him off. “When am I gonna grow?”</p><p>“Probably not for a while, Les, sorry,” David said, taking Les and his satchels off before sitting. He smiled and continued: “But if you ate your vegetables…”</p><p>He kept smiling as the rest of the boys joined in on Les’s booing.</p><p>“Davey, you don’t go talkin’ ‘bout <em>vegetables</em> at a party,” Race scolded. “You oughta take lessons from Shortstack here about getting folks to like you.”</p><p>“Endearing yourself,” Specs said with a grin.</p><p>Les looked up with a furrowed brow. “What about that other word?”</p><p>“Which one? Charm? Please? Win over?” David offered absently as he hung his and Les’s bags on the back of his chair.</p><p>“No, it’s… sorta sleezy?” Les said.</p><p>David turned back around. Les was looking up at him quizzically. David tried again: “Scam? Swindle? Deceive?”</p><p>Les shook his head. “Not that sleezy. The one that’s nice but kind of sketchy. I think it starts with a C.”</p><p>Oh, right: “Cajole.”</p><p>Les squinted off into the distance. “What’s that one again?”</p><p>“It’s when you persuade someone to do something by flattering them.”</p><p>“Flattering them a <em>lot?</em>”</p><p>“A whole lot.” David agreed.</p><p>“But you can lie and flatter, right?”</p><p>“Most do.”</p><p>Les turned back to the group at large. “What David needs to learn is how to cajole. He doesn’t have my natural aptitude.”</p><p>David chuckled and tugged the brim of Les’s hat. “Well, one of us has to be trustworthy.”</p><p>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>.”</p><p>David looked over at Race’s wondering outburst. Everyone was looking at the two of them. With identical expressions of incredulity.</p><p>“What?” Les demanded.</p><p>“You know all that off the bat?” Romeo asked.</p><p>“All what?” David asked.</p><p>“All those words, dummy.”</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Oh no. David tried very hard not to grimace. He failed. Oh, this was <em>auspicious</em> all over again.</p><p>“I-sort of?” he said.</p><p>Jack tipped his head to the side. “They teach you that in school?”</p><p>“No,” Katherine answered. “At least they didn’t in <em>my</em> school. Or my brothers’.”</p><p>“They don’t,” Les confirmed. “It’s just a David thing.”</p><p>Katherine surveyed him with an arched brow. “That’s pretty impressive, Davey.”</p><p>“It’s not,” David said immediately.</p><p>Jack shoved his shoulder. “It is, and you don’t have to go getting all clammed up about it. Got us all curious now, least you can do is tell us ‘bout it.”</p><p>He forced a laugh and shook his head. “Why would we talk about something so boring at a birthday celebration? Shouldn’t we be talking about…something else?”</p><p>“Oh, Davey, Davey, Davey,” Race chided, slowly shaking his head, grin in full force. “You make this too easy.”</p><p>David blinked once, twice, and said: “What?”</p><p>Race smiled and turned to the end of the table. “Smalls, Tommy, do youse two mind us talkin’ ‘bout how Davey here manages to spew out a whole pape’s worth of words at the drop of a hat?”</p><p>They both grinned and shook their heads.</p><p>From his seat two over from David, Crutchie turned to Les and asked: “And do <em>you</em> mind if we talked about this on your birthday?”</p><p>David’s little brother looked directly at him as he said: “Not a bit.”</p><p>Crutchie looked at him as well as he continued on to say: “Les, would you say you might even <em>want</em> Davey here to spill the beans <em>for</em> your birthday?”</p><p>“I would like that very much,” Les answered with a solemn nod of his head.</p><p>Mush muffled a snort behind his hand.</p><p>David decreed to himself, in that moment, that Crutchie was no longer allowed to spend time alone with his brother.</p><p>“You heard the man of the hour,” Jack said. “C’mon.”</p><p>Les also had to be kept away from Jack’s influence.</p><p>David groaned, but before he would accept defeat, he pulled out his last argument: “It’s just weird.”</p><p>“What’s weird about it? We knew you was smart, Davey,” Jack said with the tone of telling something to someone very stupid.</p><p>“No, I–” David sighed forcefully and shook his head.</p><p>He shouldn’t feel so frustrated. He knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t the first time the question had come up and it wouldn’t be the last; try as he might something always slipped through the cracks to reveal them. And it always attracted questions—from his classmates, from his shul friends. Even in Barnett he had been surprised to find himself an oddity, an outsider, in more ways than one. Even there a few classmates had reached out to him about it before it was made clear that such actions were not socially acceptable.</p><p>David had even caught Sarah looking at him, brows scrunched just enough that the little furrow appeared, the same one their father would get when he thought deeply, like she didn’t really understand him. Like she—the person he’d had his whole life—couldn’t even really understand him.</p><p>David had caught his parents looking at him in such a manner many times.</p><p>The fact was there was no good way to say <em>I used to read dictionaries because I asked too many questions and annoyed my mother</em> and not sound like a pinhead. And there’s no way to say <em>I just like words</em> and not sound like you needed to be locked up.  And there was absolutely no way to say <em>I love learning all the ways we try to express our thoughts and feelings, finding the briefest glimpses into how languages grow and change, reflecting and refracting as they travel across time and between one another, and how even in the spaces between thoughts they become something new; I love that I can follow them, that despite everything I still have them to reach towards, though I cannot hold them or perhaps comprehend them; I love that I can try and that I feel better for doing so</em> without sounding like a pompous bastard.</p><p>David shook the thoughts from his mind. “Never mind. But you are just going to be disappointed. There’s nothing… fancy or… spectacular or anything. I just remember words and what they mean.”</p><p>“But where do you <em>get</em> all of ‘em from?” Mush asked.</p><p>“He reads a lot,” Les added. “He used to read to me all the time. And his school gives him all these big books to memorize. It’s really dumb.”</p><p>David sighed at how his brother's tone veered sharply into disgust on his last point. “It’s not dumb, Les.”</p><p>“Not the reading part, David,” Les said condescendingly. “The part where they give <em>you</em> the books and make <em>you</em> memorize them.”</p><p>David cut him off quickly, because he had quickly learned that giving Les even a moment to start complaining about Barnett meant he would never stop. “Alright. I just read often and sometimes I remember the words. I just started doing it when I was young and I didn’t stop. I can’t explain it more than that.”</p><p>David closed his point with a shrug and a glance around the table—taking in their confused expressions.</p><p>Race broke their silence: “Huh.”</p><p>“So its like a knack or somethin’,” Elmer said.</p><p><em>What?</em> David thought, so he said: “What?”</p><p>“A knack,” Elmer repeated. “Like Sniper’s aim?”</p><p>“Or mine,” Finch added.</p><p>Sniper rolled his eyes. “So like <em>my</em> aim.”</p><p>“And Jack, with his picture-making,” Crutchie added, cutting them off before they descended into bickering.</p><p>Jack scowled, affronted, and looked off into the distance, mouthing <em>picture-making</em> with a level of incredulity David previously thought impossible. Katherine hid her grin behind her hand. Crutchie let his shine uncovered.</p><p>“I–” David paused, looking around to see… their curious expressions. “Yes, I suppose it is.”</p><p>Albert nodded like it made sense. “Elmer and Race is like that with numbers. Never managed to understand how they keep track of it, but they do.”</p><p>“Well then, Davey, is there a fancy word for that?” Specs asked.</p><p>David looked over at Mush, sprawled out on the chair, one arm hooked over the back, completely at ease. Then he looked over at Henry, who was leaning forward, head tilted in interest. He thought of the moment a few days prior, where Henry had cursed out Elmer after he’d tried to convince Les that corned beef was the superior deli order. Even as he’d covered Les’s ears, David had been awed that such a strong feeling of security could bloom inside him just from hearing a language that felt like home outside of his home.</p><p>“It’s not very fancy,” David said slowly, “but in Yiddish we might call it a schtick?”</p><p>“<em>Schtick</em>,” Specs tried. Mush and Henry shot David identical commiserating looks at the overly phlegmy pronunciation. “What’s that one mean exactly?”</p><p>“Sometimes it means a gimmick or a trick someone does a lot—something funny or strange and not really useful. Other times it means a talent or an area of interest.”</p><p>“So you and words is the second kind.”</p><p>David shrugged. Either worked.</p><p>“But– wait. Okay, so ya speak Yiddish <em>and</em> English,” Race said, ticking them off on his fingers. “But you got other ones up there. What else?”</p><p>David wondered how he knew, but Race’s mind was a complex tangled web of idiocy and brilliance that was best treated with caution and respect, so he simply answered: “We speak Polish at home, as well as some Russian. And I have to learn Latin in school.”</p><p>“David and Mama speak Russian,” Les corrected.</p><p>“Sarah and Dad speak it too,” David reprimanded. “And you could as well if you practiced.”</p><p>Les made a face that spoke to what he thought of <em>practice</em> and, as to the other point, said: “Sarah would tell you herself that she can’t, and Mama would tell you Tata can’t.”</p><p>“She would not.”</p><p>“She would think it loudly.”</p><p>David sighed to stop himself from laughing and shook his head. He turned back to the table.</p><p>They were all looking at him again.</p><p>“Geez,” Jack laughed, “you really is the brains, ain’tcha?”</p><p>Finch leaned forwards, and accusatory finger pointed across the table. “Hey, wait a sec, you can understand some of what JoJo and me say, though, can’t ya?”</p><p>David had spent many a moment feeling completely lost trying to follow their conversations, so he immediately replied: “No?”</p><p>“¿Hablas español?” JoJo cut in.</p><p>“Un poco,” he answered automatically. Then he flushed. “Wait–”</p><p>“Dios mio,” JoJo huffed.</p><p>“Look, it’s not– one of our neighbours has been helping a woman settle down in the city. In order to help her improve her English, we learned a little bit of Spanish,” David explained. “I know a few basic words and phrases, but I can barely pronounce them. I’m certainly not <em>fluent</em>.”</p><p>“Fluent?” Specs asked.</p><p>“When you can speak and understand a language fully.”</p><p>Finch threw his arms in the air. “But you keep looking at us all disapprovin’ when we cuss in front’a Les!”</p><p>“Yes, because then <em>he</em> starts swearing and <em>I</em> never hear the end of it!”</p><p>“We’s is cursin’ in <em>Spanish!</em>”</p><p>It was David’s turn to point an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “The tone is there and I’m not taking that risk.”</p><p>Everyone turned to Les. The boy in question just shrugged and confirmed: “You’re not subtle.”</p><p>Jack snorted, while Katherine once again hid her smile behind her hand. Most of the other boys proved Les’s point by bursting into loud laughter. Les beamed at his effectiveness.</p><p>“Youse is a marvel, Les Jacobs.” Mush said.</p><p>“And no one would argue otherwise,” a cheerful voice said from behind them.</p><p>David turned to see Mr. Jacobi smiling genially at his brother, arms laden with a tray full of glasses of water. He set the tray down on the table. David and Crutchie both started unloading it, and the others slid the glasses down.</p><p>As David took the last glass, Mr. Jacobi flipped the tray under his arm, and said: “Sandwiches coming soon!” before pinching Les’s cheek, and leaving them once more.</p><p>As soon as he was far enough out of ear shot, Les turned to the table at large. “Why do old folks do that?”</p><p>“To remind themselves of when their face used to be all young instead of hanging off their bones,” Race offered.</p><p>Albert choked on his water.</p><p>“Sorry, I’m still stuck on this.” Katherine said over the sound of Albert coughing and Race thumping him on the back. “You’re fluent in <em>five</em> languages?”</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> fluent in <em>Latin</em>,” David asserted.</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “My mistake; you speak <em>four</em> languages fluently. I just… <em>seriously?</em>”</p><p>He shrugged. “It’s nothing special. Lots of people can speak multiple languages.”</p><p>Katherine scoffed. “Davey, as someone who practically had French beaten into her with a stick, you are not going to be able to argue me into seeing it as anything other than a commendable feat.”</p><p><em>Oh.</em> David scrunched up his face sympathetically. He’d had enough fun with teaching via rulers that he had to concede her point.</p><p>“But don’t it get confusin’,” Specs asked, pointing at David’s forehead and clarifying: “havin’ all those different ways of sayin’ things all up in your head?”</p><p>David shrugged. “Not particularly. I grew up with most of them.”</p><p>“You don’t go usin’ Polish by accident when youse is supposed to be speakin’ Yiddish?” Jack asked.</p><p>David shook his head. “Not in public—we’re careful about that. It doesn’t matter if we slip up at home; we can keep up with one another. I only <em>really</em> get confused when I’m… I don’t know, feverish?”</p><p>A smile slowly started to grow on Jack’s face. “You switch between Polish and Yiddish when you’re loopy?”</p><p>Les snorted.</p><p>“What?” Katherine asked, brow once again raised.</p><p>“David speaks <em>everything</em> when he’s loopy. All at the same time. It’s hilarious,” Les said. “And he forgets what sayings are in which language so starts talking about skinning bears in Yiddish and bagels in Russian.”</p><p>The others stared at them blankly. Les looked around at their vacant expressions. He crossed his arms and slumped in his chair, sighing loudly.</p><p>David rubbed his eyes. “It’s funnier if you speak Polish, Russian, and Yiddish.”</p><p>“Right…” Jack said, drawing out the word. “I think we best leave those jokes to the Jacobs, then.”</p><p>“That was a joke?” Albert mumbled.</p><p>Mush’s eyes lit up in comprehension and he elbowed Albert in the side. “There’s a bagel saying in Yiddish.”</p><p>“And there’s a Polish saying about skinning bears,” Elmer also clarified.</p><p>“The hell kind of sayings do you folks <em>have?</em>” Albert demanded.</p><p>“No, shut up,” Race leaned over the table and sweeping his arm across it, as though he was cutting through the air like he’d cut off the conversation. “Discuss that another time. We’s is missin’ the main point here,” Race said to the group at large. He pointed at Davey “We can use this, right? We’s can figure out a way to use this.”</p><p>For what felt like the tenth time in less than half an hour, the table went silent and looked incredulously at one of the occupants. For once, though, the focus was not on David. Race held his position in the face of—or, probably, because of—the attention.</p><p>“To do what?” David asked despite himself.</p><p>Race sat back, crossing his shoulders and shrugging. “No clue, but it’s gonna be good.”</p><p>Once again, the table was silent.</p><p>Once again, David broke it: “Well that’s…”</p><p>“Terrifyin’,” Jack finished.</p><p>David pressed down a smile and shrugged. “I was going to say foreboding.”</p><p>“Course you were,” Jack said. “Is that just the same thing, then?”</p><p>David nodded. “It’s when you think something bad is going to happen.”</p><p>“So it’s just a fancy word for scared,” Jack confirmed, smiling wide. “Don’t see why you gotta go sayin’ it then if I already says it better.”</p><p>“I have to say at least thirty-seven fancy words a day or else I’m barred from attending school in the Fall,” David said evenly, taking a sip of water.</p><p>Jack looked at him for a second before his face screwed up and he punched him in the shoulder. “Stop <em>doing</em> that!”</p><p>David laughed at the whine.</p><p>“Let ‘im have it, Davey!” Race cheered as the other boys laughed too.</p><p>“He deserves it,” Crutchie agreed through his chuckles.</p><p>“For <em>what?</em>” Jack demanded, turning on the group.</p><p>They immediately all erupted into overlapping stories of Jack’s offences, none of which David could follow, but he couldn’t help but continue to laugh at their enthusiasm.</p><p>“Should I just take these back to the kitchen until you’re all done?”</p><p>They all stopped and looked up to see Mr. Jacobi once again smiling down at all of them, holding a tray with four sandwiches and a plate of cookies.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Jacobi; we’s is done now,” Jack said.</p><p>Mr. Jacobi raised a bushy brow and set down the tray. “I doubt that, but, in any case, here you all go. We had some extra treats from last night that I convinced the Missus to save. They should still be good, maybe a smidge crunchy.”</p><p>The group immediately erupted into thanks as they leaned over one another to grab as the sweets. Mr. Jacobi smiled and winked at David before heading off once more, whistling a cheerful tune on his way.</p><p>David turned to Les, and pitched his voice to a careful low quiet so that only he and maybe Jack could hear him over the noise of the others. “Well, Les, did that ridiculous conversation fulfil your birthday wish?”</p><p>Les shrugged. “Only if all that will make you actually start talking instead of thinking things loudly.”</p><p>Only if he… <em>oh for gods sake.</em></p><p>David shook his head and asked: “How did you become so conniving?”</p><p>Les smiled wide. “Natural aptitude.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, I am hopping on the “David is a polyglot” train. It’s a good train.</p><p>The headlines Jack and David are hawking are once again stollen directly from the Times archive, both dated for August 20, 1899, and can be found <a>here</a> and <a>here</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Obtuse: August 28, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: somewhat gross description of a dead animal, but, besides that, none!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Obtuse</strong> <em>adj.</em> <strong>1.</strong> Not pointed or acute; blunt <strong>2. a.</strong> Lacking sharpness or quickness of sensibility or intellect; insensitive, stupid. <strong>b.</strong> difficult to comprehend; not clear or precise in thought or expression [English, from Latin <em>obtusus</em>, blunt, dull, from past principle of <em>obtundere</em> to beat against, blunt, from <em>ob</em>-against + <em>tundere</em> to beat]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>August 28, 1899</strong>
</p><p>About a week after that warm and wild day in Jacobi’s, Race revealed his master plan.</p><p>“Davey, my buddy, my pal,” he started. “How ya doin’?”</p><p>David halted his and Crutchie’s argument in its tracks. He had to tip his head up and shield his eyes to make out the inquiring figure—arms crossed, hat off, weight leaning slightly to the left. The sun haloed his head, catching the wisps of his curls, golden in the light.</p><p>“Race, my friend, my companion,” David replied tonelessly. “What do you want?”</p><p>Race’s mouth dropped open. If his cigar hadn’t been safely stowed in his pocket it would have fallen out of his mouth, dropped to the street, and rolled away into traffic, never to provide the lanky newsie the means to gesture even more emphatically than his already-frantic hand gestures allowed again.</p><p>“What? Me? Want something?” His voice went high as he feigned incredulity. “Can’t I just want to chat?”</p><p>When Race <em>just wanted to chat</em>, he sauntered up beside someone, said something completely ludicrous, and then nudged them with his pointy elbow until they responded.</p><p>David shook his head in mock disappointment. “You know my stance on lying.”</p><p>Race rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are the most upstanding of citizens—perfect moral posture.”</p><p>“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not,” David lied, arching a brow, “but I must warn you that if you are about to ask for something, insulting me would not convince me to help you.”</p><p>Jack snorted. “He’s got you there. C’mon, Higgins. Spit it out.”</p><p>“Fine. Scoot over so’s I can sit?”</p><p>With some exaggerated grumbling, they did so, the four of them shifting to the side—Jack first, then Crutchie, then Les, then finally David—until there was just enough room in their patch of shade for Race to squeeze in. As soon as Race did so, he collapsed back, tipping his head to rest against the cool stone. This close and no longer half-blinded by the sun, David could see the sweat that ran down the other boy’s temples and darkened the curls plastered to his forehead.</p><p>“Ugh, now that’s better. <em>Geez</em>, it’s a scorcher today, ain’t it? It’s so hot I swear I saw a rat fryin’ on the road a few blocks east. You could hear the sizzle.”</p><p>“Thanks for that, Race,” Crutchie deadpanned. “We all definitely needed that picture in our heads.”</p><p>“It’s the sound that was the gross part, just hsssss–”</p><p>“What did you want to ask me?” David interrupted.</p><p>“Right. So… uh…” Race started. He shifted so that one of his legs was bent up and rested his arms on it, wrists crossed over each other. “Remember last week when we was all talkin’ ‘bout your word thing?”</p><p>“Yes…” he drew the word out long.</p><p>“Right.” The other newsie nodded once, sharp. He looked out to the street as he talked to David. “And you remember how I was gonna figure out a way to use it?”</p><p>“You mentioned something of the sort.”</p><p>“Right. Well, see, I’m gettin’ there, but I ain’t yet, but I was thinkin’ maybe if I did get there you wouldn’t wanna be part of it and it might be better if I did it myself but I <em>can’t</em> but you <em>can</em> so–”</p><p>David did his best to listen, but it was difficult to not get distracted by Race’s nervous ticks. His one arm still rested on his knee, but his other gestured haphazardly with his words, pointing at David, sweeping out towards the street, pushing his damp hair off of his face. His expression changed so quickly it was hard to attach an emotion to the twitching brows and wide eyes and squints and smiled that flickered in and out.</p><p>David had known Race for about a month and he had <em>never</em> seen him look this uncertain.</p><p>“– it’d be better if we just got it outa the way now, and then you can have your—damn, what didja call it the other day? <em>Plausible deniability?</em> Yeah, that sounds right, so–”</p><p>Jack took pity on him. “Just spit it out, Race.”</p><p>“Couldyamaybeteachmesomeofyourfancywords?”</p><p>It all came out on a single gust of breath, a string of sounds, loud even against the distant sound of traffic that echoed from the road.</p><p>David paused. No. No, he definitely had no idea what Race just said.</p><p>“Sorry, one more time.”</p><p>Race groaned. “Could ya teach me fancy words?”</p><p>Alright. David had the sentence now, but the meaning… “I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”</p><p>“It’s just…” Race had moved to twisting his hat in his hands as he spoke, “you have all these fancy ways of sayin’ things and I can’t go round readin’ shelves of books in my spare time considerin’ I don’t have neither shelves nor spare time. So I was thinkin’ I could use you who’s done that already so’s I don’t hafta.”</p><p>“Sure…”</p><p>“So what I’s is askin’ is if you’d be up for teachin’ me some of your words and what they mean.”</p><p>“Oh.” David suppressed the immediate response of <em>why didn’t you just ask that in the first place,</em> because… well, he knew the trials of trying to verbalize requests that you were too embarrassed to admit you had.</p><p>Instead he replied: “Yes, of course, Race.”</p><p>The boy perked up. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Sure. I mean, the others have already started asking me what certain words mean, so it’s really no trouble if you also –”</p><p>“No, Davey,” Race cut him off. “What I’s is askin’ is for you to teach me some fancy words just… you know, not connected to nothin’. Just words and what they mean.”</p><p>“So…” He drew the word out long, stretching the o as he thought through the request, “you just want me to tell you a word and define it and… that’s it.”</p><p>Race nodded. “Yeah. you teach me fancy words and what they mean and how they get used and I can go use ‘em for my own misdoings and I’ll give you somethin’ back.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not to sure about the <em>misdoings</em> bit–”</p><p>“He already misdoes.”</p><p>David ignored Jack and continued: “– but I’d be happy to teach you words without you giving me something back.”</p><p>Race shook his head hard. “Nope. We trade for it.”</p><p>David looked at him, hoping continued observation would somehow avail him to whatever the hell was going on in the other boy’s head.</p><p>In the absence of any revelation, he responded: “But it’s not a problem for me to–”</p><p>He was cut off immediately. “Nuh-uh.”</p><p>“Race, really, I’m–”</p><p>”Nope.”</p><p>”I’m more than happy to–”</p><p>“Tit for tat.”</p><p>“That’s only really supposed to apply to retaliatory–”</p><p>“Even stevens.”</p><p>“No, Race, I understand what you’re trying to say–”</p><p>“You scratch my back I scratch yours or we both stay real itchy.”</p><p>“Well that seems a little–”</p><p>“<em>Davey</em>,” Race groaned, “I don’t want nothin’ from you for free. C’mon, you get it.”</p><p>“No I don’t, I–”</p><p>Jack was struck quite suddenly with a violent cough that sounded suspiciously like “I’m no charity case.”</p><p>David stopped and closed his eyes. Then he turned and leaned over to glare at his selling partner. He, Crutchie, and Les were all smiling beatifically.</p><p>“Alright. Fine.” He turned back around. “What were you thinking about trading in exchange?”</p><p>Race tipped his head to the side, eyes flitting as though he was sorting through his thoughts as they appeared in front of him. “Math help?”</p><p>“David doesn’t need help,” Les answered.</p><p>“And Elmer would give it to you without question.”</p><p>“Et tu, Crutchie?”</p><p>“I’d be grateful for the math help if I start school again,” David interrupted, “but that’s…” he thought about the letter he sent well over a week ago, still unanswered, “…still a while away. What else do you have to offer?”</p><p>“Italian.” Race said immediately.</p><p>Which was… not what David was expecting.</p><p>“<em>Italian?</em>”</p><p>“’s what I says, ain’t it?”</p><p>“How do <em>you</em> know Italian?”</p><p>David knew that Race was easily offended. Everyone knew that Race was easily offended. He took any opportunity to loudly and dramatically proclaim injuries to his pride and person. He yelled, he rolled his eyes, he generally made such a fuss that you either ended up throwing your arms in the air or laughing despite yourself.</p><p>As it turned out, when Race was <em>truly</em> offended, he barely showed it. It was only visible in the slightest downturn to his mouth, a tense set to his shoulders, the way his brows drew together for only a moment before they settled into neutrality, and a minute widening of his eyes. All contributed to one of the most heartbreaking expressions David had ever seen on the boy.</p><p>It was not a discovery David was proud to have made.</p><p>“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Sorry, no, that came out wrong,” David apologized immediately, guilt burrowing into his chest. “It’s just–” he paused, trying to figure out a way to say it without sounding like an idiot, before he gave up and finished saying: “I thought you were Irish?”</p><p>The offence melted off Race’s face. “I am Irish.”</p><p>A response that David was certain mounted the confusion in his own expression. “Then how do you know Italian?”</p><p>“Davey, you know there’s two folks involved in havin’ a kid, right? Its important to me that ya know that,” Race said with a grin. “My Pa was Irish. My Mama was all Italian. She taught me some before she took off and then my aunt kept teachin’ me ‘till she started havin’ her own kids and I took off.”</p><p>
  <em>…Oh.</em>
</p><p>He squeezed his brother’s shoulder in warning. Les settled back, snapping his mouth shut. The questions were still in his eyes but he kept them there.</p><p>“So what exactly are you offering?” David asked.</p><p>Race shrugged. “I teach you Italian you give me fancy words.”</p><p>“Have you ever taught anyone Italian? It seems like a much greater amount of work than me telling you words.”</p><p>“Eh, I’m bored.” He took his cigar out of his pocket and started twirling it in his fingers. “We had all that strike fun and now there’s just a wide field of nothin’ stretchin’ out till winter when we start havin’ to get creative ‘bout sellin’ again. That rat was the best thing I had happen to me this week.”</p><p>“I just got that out of my head,” Crutchie muttered.</p><p>“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” David said. “Anyways, we should think about the logistics before we finalize this. I mean, what if I can’t think of a word that fits your demand that day?”</p><p>“Oh… huh…” Race scrunched up his face. “How about if you can’t think of one right away you just give me a different one and then you keep thinkin’ on it and give me the one I asked for the next day?”</p><p>David hummed in thought, remembering the old dictionaries that contained his childhood entertainment. “That could work. It would also allow me to look one up if I’m really struggling.”</p><p>“Yeah! There we go! It’s all comin’ together.”</p><p>“How will you teach me Italian, though? I don’t think I can learn a language one word at a time.”</p><p>“Course you can’t,” Race said on an eye-roll. “No one can. Um… how ‘bout we just try to figure it out as we go. And as for timin’… hey! We could do it between editions!”</p><p>“That’s a good idea. What if–”</p><p>“Hey, hold up a sec.” Jack’s interrupted.</p><p>David stopped short of jumping—for a moment he’d forgotten the other’s presence.</p><p>Jack’s hands were raised in front of him, like he was trying to physically halt the conversation in its tracks. His eyes were dancing, though, and the rakish grin David had quickly grown to associate with him was obviously threatening to bloom, his lip twitching in spite of his concentrated attempt to school his expression. </p><p>“Look, Davey,” Jack began. “I know this is enticin’ and all. But you best think careful here.”</p><p>“About what?” he asked.</p><p>“He already told you he’s gonna be gettin’ up to trouble with all these new words,” Crutchie explained. “You want that on your conscience?”</p><p>“Yeah, Davey, do ya really want Race to have this power? We all know he’s gonna abuse it.”</p><p>David looked over to Race. He was a picture of innocence—soft smile, hands folded—but his eyes glittered with unknowable intent.</p><p>“You’re right.” David said, then paused, and added: “But it’s been too quiet lately,” before he spit in his hand and offered it out.</p><p>Race’s eyes and smile went unbelievably wide. He spit and returned the shake as Les cheered and Crutchie and Jack groaned dramatically.</p><p>“We ain’t ever gonna hear the end of it now.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, Jack,” David replied in a comforting tone, “I’m sure it will be some time before Race and I can truly talk to one another in Italian.”</p><p>It was Jack’s turn to get wide eyes. “No!”</p><p>“Hmm?” David asked.</p><p>“I never even <em>thought</em> of that!” Jack moaned.</p><p>David couldn’t help but laugh at his partner’s anguish, a reaction only encouraged by the light feeling that was quickly spreading through his body.</p><p>He may not get to go back to school or listen attentively in class, he may no longer have the time available to spend in libraries or in thought, but David could have this. He could still find some way to fill the part of his heart that desperately wanted something new. And, what’s more, he’d maybe found someone else that had that same hole in their chest.</p><p>David turned to his new partner in learning. “Well then, Race, what sort of word would you like today?”</p><p>The other boy was almost vibrating with excitement. “An <em>insultin’</em> one.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “I regret this decision already.”</p><p>“C’mon, Davey.” Race prodded his side with his pointy elbow. “We got a deal.”</p><p>“Alright.” He searched his memory for all the words he desperately wanted to use but was never allowed to. “How about obtuse?”</p><p>“I like the sounds of it. What’s it mean?”</p><p>“It’s a pompous way to say someone is stupid.”</p><p>Race’s eyes lit up.</p><p>David turned to the others. “I’ve just done something terrible, haven’t I.”</p><p>“No,” Les replied, “you’ve done something obtuse.”</p><p>Jack snorted.</p><p>David sighed and turned back to Race. “Use it wisely. I don’t want to get to arrive at the distribution yard tomorrow morning and find you in a casket. And I don’t want anyone else out for my blood—I already have to worry about Hunter.”</p><p>“Davey,” Crutchie said, “for the last time, Hunter don’t hate you one bit.”</p><p>“You weren’t even <em>there</em>, Crutchie, how can you know that? I’m telling you, she kept glaring at me! It was alarming! And I don’t know what I said that offended her but she kept getting all… all red!”</p><p>“For the love of– <em>that ain’t a sign that she hates you.</em>”</p><p>“You’re right; it’s a sign that she despises me and my physical presence enrages her.”</p><p>“How did I ever think youse was an optimist?” Race marveled aloud.</p><p>“Because you’re obtuse,” Les offered.</p><p>“I definitely regret this.”</p><p>..........</p><p>The lightness in his chest persisted until they returned home. It evaporated when he saw the look on his mother’s face.</p><p>“David,” she said, “there is a letter for you.”</p><p>“Since when do you get mail?” Les asked.</p><p>David didn’t even chide him for it. He was too distracted by the paper his mother held out to him.</p><p>He took it in hand. His heart skipped a beat.</p><p>He did not recognize the handwriting. He definitely recognized the crest stamped in the corner.</p><p>He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and split the envelope along the edge. He pulled out the paper, unfolded it and read.</p><p>By the time he reached the final signature, a cold sense of calm had settled over him; the kind of calm that only took hold in a crisis. In the eye of the storm.</p><p>And, even though he knew his mother would not approve, even though Les was still in the room, watching and wary of his older brother’s odd behaviour, David could not help but utter the only word that really suited the situation.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Formacja: August 29, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: antisemitism and classism out the wazoo, accidental self-harm, unsafe factory conditions, implied/referenced violence towards a child.</p>
<p>Translations in the end note.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3>
<p><strong>Formacja</strong> <em>n.</em> State of mind or set of opinions that is widespread across a particular generation or period of time; a defining ideology; zeitgeist [Polish]</p><h3></h3>
<p>
<strong>August 29, 1899</strong>
</p>
<p>They barely got to the distribution yard on time.</p>
<p>They were one of the first ones there.</p>
<p>“Here,” David said between his gasps for breath. He fished into his pocket and pulled out three dimes. “Just in case.”</p>
<p>Les grabbed them but rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. <em>Go!</em>”</p>
<p>David nodded and turned on his heel to leave.</p>
<p>And ran right into someone.</p>
<p>As he stumbled back, he heard a familiar laugh. “Whoa! Where’s the fire?”</p>
<p>David grimaced. “Sorry Jack.”</p>
<p>His selling partner’s smile faltered. His face screwed up in disbelief as the image hit him full force.</p>
<p>“<em>Davey?</em>”</p>
<p>“That’s me,” he agreed, making his way around Jack and Crutchie, both of them stock-still in their shock. “I have to run. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“The hell are you <em>wearing?</em>” Jack demanded.</p>
<p>“I’ll explain later!”</p>
<p>“Davey, where are you–!” Jack called.</p>
<p>But he was already out of earshot as David sprinted away.</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>The day after he got accepted to Barnett, David’s father told him that they were going to go for a walk. David had paused in his reading, nodded, and set the book aside. His father always enjoyed going for walks. Sarah also enjoyed going for walks. The two of them enjoyed one another’s company even more.</p>
<p>When his father asked David to join him, it meant they needed to talk. Alone.</p>
<p>That spring had been cool, pleasant. If he closed his eyes, David could see the way the thin wisps of clouds had floated across the pale blue sky. They took the road that led to his and Sarah’s school. He expected his father took the same road to work. They all knew that path well. It was easy to tune out their surroundings.</p>
<p>They had been walking long enough that David was surprised when his father broke the silence.</p>
<p>“You know that I am proud of you?”</p>
<p>He did. His father congratulated others often and easily. David was no exception.</p>
<p>When he had gotten his acceptance letter, they’d made him read it out loud. His mother had been misty eyed, shaking her head, murmuring bewildered strings of gratitude. Les kept cheering when David paused for breath—too young to understand what was happening but too bright to miss his family’s obvious excitement. Sarah had practically been vibrating in her seat. His father’s smile had been so wide he had barely been able to speak. Even later in the evening his mouth was tilted upward at the corners.</p>
<p>“You must know. Because I am. Very proud.” The words were stilted and accented, as they always were when his father spoke English. It was always odd to hear a man famous for his lavish Polish and Yiddish phrasing confined to clipped pronunciation and short sentences.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” David had replied.</p>
<p>“This school… it will be good for you. Put your mind to use. Soon you will be far smarter than me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>“I know so, and I am still smarter so you cannot argue.”</p>
<p>David had giggled at that.</p>
<p>“Ha! A rare David laugh!” his father had pretended to cheer. “You see, only a very smart man can make you laugh.”</p>
<p>“Or a very silly one.”</p>
<p>“I must be silly with you and your mother. So serious. You must remember joy, David, and so I must remind you.”</p>
<p>He had looked up and smiled at his father. “Alright.”</p>
<p>His father had smiled back, but it faltered. He had turned away before it dropped completely.</p>
<p>He sighed deeply. “David… my son… as your father I must protect you. You are soon to be a man, yes, but I still must protect you. I will always try to. And to do that now means I must warn you.”</p>
<p>Years later, David was still struck remembering the stony expression that settled on his father’s face, so at odds with his jovial features.</p>
<p>“This new school… I wish to be wrong, but I do not think it will be easy. You will face unkindness. You may face cruelty. They may direct it at you and they may direct it at us, at me and your mother. You are the first to have this opportunity, and that comes with a price. There are costs to success, especially for our people.”</p>
<p>“Because we are Jewish?”</p>
<p>“Because we are Jewish. Because we came here on a large ship from a different land. Because we do not live in a big house. Because we have struggled and will continue to struggle. Because we come from many worlds they do not understand. We are different from them, David; our family and our life is very different from the families and lives of the boys you will soon have as your classmates.”</p>
<p>“People are not very good at handling things that are <em>different</em>, are they?”</p>
<p>His father had chuckled. “No, they are not.”</p>
<p>They had had such a conversation before, when David was very young and some older children had heard him and Sarah speaking Yiddish on the shop corner and thrown rocks and chased them away. The two of them had not stopped running until they got home, even though they knew they had lost the group almost five blocks away.</p>
<p><em>I don’t understand, Tata</em>, David had whispered that evening, one of the rare nights their father tucked them in instead of their mother. <em>Doesn’t God tell them to love and respect one another?</em></p>
<p><em>Oh, boychik</em>, his father had said, <em>I believe that is the one rule everyone agrees on, but very few seem to follow.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I do. Or… I try to.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That is good. I am proud of you for doing so. Keep doing it and keep trying to.</em>
</p>
<p>The facts were no easier to hear at the age of twelve than they were at the age of five.</p>
<p>“But…” They turned the road and David had been able to see his school—his old school—a few blocks away. “David, you must remember that what they say, whatever they say, it is not true. It will not be true. And you must remember that what they say to you is a reflection of themselves,” he smiled, lost in his memory, for a moment’s pause. “Though I suppose I do not need to tell you that. You were always very clever.”</p>
<p>David had forced a smile and nodded.</p>
<p>They’d walked back soon after, his father’s hand on his shoulder to ensure David did not drift off. The whole way home, David held his question in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. He had not wanted to ask it in English on the streets, nor in hushed Yiddish as they turned into their neighbourhood. And he had not wanted to call his father “Dad” to ask it. He wanted to use his name for his father when he asked the only question he’d had on his mind since this all began.</p>
<p>David did so as they walked up the stairs of their tenement building.</p>
<p>“Tata, they keep saying I have… <em>potential</em>.” He’d said the word in English, hesitant to try and ask for clarification while navigating the translation “But they say it… oddly. I don’t understand why they say it the way they do.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” His father had paused at the door. “Well they think that by going to the school you will improve. That is what they mean.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Alright.”</p>
<p>He hadn’t thought that was right, but he did not correct his father.</p>
<p><em>Potential.</em> David had been aware of <em>potentials</em> his whole life. “I’m not taking that chance” he’d said when Les tried to assure him he probably wouldn’t get hurt if he jumped from the table to their bed. “It’s not worth the consequences” he’d said when Sarah tried to convince him they could win the spelling bee—the Jacobs take the championship, take out the competition like they both knew they could and duel it out for top spot. Potentials for risk were a given, but potentials for reward…</p>
<p>Potential. It was an odd word. He remembered it because of that. Potential, noun; A latent quality or ability that could be developed for usefulness. Potential, adjective; <em>It has potential. There is potential. You have potential.</em> When something had potential, it had the capacity to become something else; a guarantee of transformation in the far future, a glow of promise somehow visible through the disfiguring façade of the present being.</p>
<p>He wondered what it was about him that made people see what he needed to improve. He wondered what they wanted him to become. He wondered if he could become it.</p>
<p>David thought about potential, about tolerance and the cost of possibility, as he sat, picking the frayed edge of his cuff with stiff fingers, the staccato tap of his foot echoing in the empty hall, waiting for the headmaster to arrive for their meeting which was supposed to begin well over an hour ago.</p>
<p>The main door groaned as it opened. David stood quickly and stumbled, grabbing the bench to support himself as pins and needles radiated pain up his legs.</p>
<p>A man stepped in, a silhouette in the light that streamed in through the open door. His tall figure was stretched further by his top hat. As he released the door, he neatly swept off his hat and tucked it under his arm. Walking towards David, he ducked his head, pulling his gloves off with sharp tugs and pocketing them in his grey jacket.</p>
<p>He did not check his watch.</p>
<p>David knew from the information that seeped into his peers’ ridicule that Headmaster Culbertson was very, <em>very</em> wealthy. Even without that confirmation it could be discerned in a glance at his confident stance—the posture of a man who knew his place was at the top of society and was constantly reminded by society that he deserved such a position.</p>
<p>He wasn’t ostentatious in his wealth. His suit was perfectly fit and made with high quality fabrics, but he wore simple cuts and colours. He was not like the men who waltzed around town in brocade vests with shining watch chains precisely angled to catch the light—the sort that would toss their change at David with a light hand, in the hopes that it would drop just short so they could laugh at him as he scrambled to grab for the penny. David knew that sort well and, since the day Jack taught him to step forward and catch the coin in the air, wiping the grins off their faces, he knew how to handle them. Mr. Culbertson was not like that. Mr. Culbertson would never debase himself by purchasing a paper on the street.</p>
<p>Barnett was a completely different world to the one David grew up in. It was entirely different from the one he had spent the summer in. Barnett was exactly where a man like Mr. Culbertson belonged.</p>
<p>When he had first begun attending the school, the headmaster was a towering figure. Now he had at least an inch on the man. It was a fact that still surprised him, likely because the few times David had met with Mr. Culbertson since his growth spurt, he had been sitting in a low chair as the Barnett board members discussed whether he had done enough to permit his continued attendance.</p>
<p>David took a moment to live through his shock at their height difference once more. He was afforded the time to do so, as Mr. Culbertson had yet to notice the only other person in the hallway.</p>
<p>He was about five feet away when he looked up. His lips curled to a smile under his neat moustache. “Ah, Mr. Jacobs. You’re here.”</p>
<p>David nodded and said: “Good morning, sir.”</p>
<p>“Hmm? Oh, yes. Good morning. How are you?”</p>
<p>Due to the absolute lack of inflection or interest in his tone, David simply answered. “I am well, thank you. How are you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I am well, I suppose. This heat is murder, though, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely no way to enjoy yourself on a day like today,” Mr. Culbertson continued, taking his keys out of his vest pocket. “We are forced to sit around at home and wile away the hours. I’ve spent so much time cooped up in my study I practically forgot what a breeze felt like.”</p>
<p>He chuckled at his own joke. He looked up to David for confirmation. David forced a smile.</p>
<p>The headmaster shook his head fondly. “Ah, I suppose a young man such as yourself would find some way to enjoy his few months of freedom. I do hope you took <em>some</em> time to rest and prepare yourself for this coming year. Did you have a pleasurable summer?”</p>
<p>David blinked. “Not particularly, sir.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Oh, yes! That is right. I was sorry to hear about your father.”</p>
<p><em>I’m sure you were.</em> David swallowed the words and replied: “Thank you, sir.”</p>
<p>He unlocked the door with a sharp twist of the wrist and put the key back into his pocket. David reached out and opened it. He waited for the headmaster to enter his office before he followed behind, one hand on the door to guide it to a gentle close.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson had already hung his hat on the rack and was in the process of doing the same with his coat, pulling David’s letter from the pocket.</p>
<p>“Shall I open the window, sir?” David asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, certainly. Goodness, does this office get stuffy over the summer. At least the maids remembered to take the sheets off the furniture a week ahead this year. The ones last year thought to wait only <em>three days</em> before—well, they’re all gone now. We needn’t worry about their shortcomings.”</p>
<p>David opened the window.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson settled in his chair, leaning back as he shuffled through the pile of papers on his desk. His eyes flicked up to where David hovered, waiting.</p>
<p>“Do sit. You make me uncomfortable just by looking at you.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, sir.” David replied.</p>
<p>He sat in the chair positioned just in front of the desk. It was unbelievably comfortable, especially after sitting on the bench in the hall for who knew how long. He fought against the urge to sink into the plush cushions.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson set aside his documents. He took David’s letter in hand and pulled the paper out of the already cut edge of the envelope. He read through it once more, eyes moving slowly across the page. David resisted the urge to squirm. When he had finished, the headmaster’s eyes once again flicked up to David. Though they were seated to face one another directly, he got the distinct sense Mr. Culbertson was looking down his nose at him.</p>
<p>He set aside the note with a sigh. “Mr. Jacobs, you know, of course, that Barnett prides itself on providing students with an extensive education.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” It was repeated frequently, especially towards him.</p>
<p>“And you understand that we plan our curriculum with great care.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“In light of all this, then, you must understand my hesitancy in granting you your request; it is only in truly dire circumstances that we allow students to return late.”</p>
<p>David nodded. He remembered when James had been absent for almost two months last year. His family had been in dire need of a trip to France and the school had been in dire need of their continued patronage.</p>
<p>“Good. Now; do you have the evidence?”</p>
<p>David nodded once more, swallowed, and reached down to his bag. He flipped it open and took a moment to trace his hand over Sarah’s thoughtful embroidery, hoping it could impart some strength. He pulled out the papers—tied together with twine—and held them out across the desk. He was surprised and grateful to find his hands were steady.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson took them, took his pen knife to the string, and began his assessment. He flipped through his father’s dismissal forms, the medical bills, their rent payments, Sarah’s pay stubs, his mother’s commission orders, their food orders, everything. He and his parents had stayed up late, arranging the papers and compiling their budget into the incriminating and indisputable package that his headmaster now shuffled through while wearing gold cufflinks.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson flipped to the last two sheets of paper, and held them. With the sun shining through then, David could make out the signature at the bottom of the first page. It was recognizable even backwards, as Dr. Abbott had uniquely terrible penmanship. On the second page, he could make out his own calculations. His eye caught on the blot on the twelfth line—the spot where he had frozen, pen hovering over the page, ink dripping down, as he realized he and Les had become the primary source of income for their family.</p>
<p>The pages down were set down with a sigh, haphazardly piled together, and shifted them to the side of the desk.</p>
<p>David folded his hands in his lap, and hoped that Mr. Culbertson could not see how hard he was clenching his fists.</p>
<p>“You must understand, Mr. Jacobs,” the headmaster began, “we treat events such as these with a great degree of caution. People take notice of these sorts of instances. We must ensure we are not getting… oh, what is the word?”</p>
<p>David swallowed to moisten his throat before he replied: “Swindled, sir?”</p>
<p>“Yes, that is the one. This may be enough to convince the board that your situation is what you say. However, I saw no mention of savings.”</p>
<p>“They are listed on the last page, sir.”</p>
<p>“But you cannot support yourselves with them?”</p>
<p>‘We don’t have enough, sir.”</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson shook his head with a sigh. “Let that be a lesson to you. One must always save for a rainy day. Don’t go making your parents’ mistakes when you are older.”</p>
<p>He clenched his hands tighter. “Yes, sir. I will remember.”</p>
<p>“It is surprising, though, I thought-” David dug his nails into his palms “-no matter. Well, it is most unfortunate they are not supporting you in your pursuit of a better future.”</p>
<p>David nodded. Mr. Culbertson was not looking at him. That was for the best; he was so tense he was sure it had been a noticeably jerky movement.</p>
<p>“I will have to discuss this over the coming weeks with the board and our funders. Perhaps a few of your instructors should attend—they may provide further evidence that you have not inherited your family’s shortcomings. You said by the end of…oh where was it… ah, the first week of November? That won’t be possible, but we could perhaps delay until mid October...”</p>
<p>October would bring cold winds. Hopefully nowhere near the cold they’d had earlier in the year—the reason their savings had already dwindled before all this began. He had heard the old men in shul complain about the havoc cold wrought upon their sore joints. David did not know what the cold would do to his father.</p>
<p>“I expect your father should be able to find a job by then...”</p>
<p>His father had argued with Isaac when he’d come two weeks ago. He had argued with Dr. Abbott last Thursday. Mr. Hochman had been there then, standing at the ready to assist, and had shut down his father’s protestations with a sharp prod to his knee that made him howl like an animal. From the crack in the door David had seen Les bury his face in Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah hand pulled him tight, her own face deathly pale, lips moving fast, her comforting too quiet for David to hear.</p>
<p>He had never seen his mother so angry.</p>
<p>“As your scholarship stipulates, we will cover the cost of your schooling...”</p>
<p>Last year the school had cost them $15.00—mostly a new uniform, but the cost of his books had sharply increased. David remembered his father staring at them with a tired grimace that even he could not hide.</p>
<p>“Of course, you would still be responsible for the additional expenses…”</p>
<p>Les needed new shoes or he’d have a hole in the sole by January. David’s brother would have to make do with the fraying hand-me-down shirts and trousers, though. Sarah would need a new blouse, a new skirt…her current ones were so stained they were unrecognizable. And she needed a scarf. Before November at least. They might have the wool, David hadn’t checked. But there were also his books. And supplies were $1.25 last semester, but he may be able to pick up some work with Mr. Klein in exchange for his pencil stubs. His shirts were alright, as were his trousers, let out almost two inches at the hem and he was never questioning his mother’s purchases again. He could carry his school shoes and change before class. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about snow inevitably seeping through the gap growing in the heel. But he couldn’t even think about the all days they wouldn’t be selling in the coming month or where they could find enough for tzedakah–</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t you agree?”</p>
<p>David startled out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson’s lip curled. “Am I <em>boring</em> you, Mr. Jacobs?”</p>
<p>His blood went cold. “No. No, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. It will not happen again.”</p>
<p>“See that it doesn’t. I’m a busy man, Mr. Jacobs. I don’t appreciate people wasting my time.”</p>
<p>David bowed his head. His knuckles were white.</p>
<p>“As I was saying, the board is well within its right to decline your request. We do not want to set a precedent for poor commitment. We run a school, not a charity.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”</p>
<p>A scoff. “I doubt you do, but nevertheless… it really is a shame.”</p>
<p>David supposed that could be the feeling that threatened to strangle him.</p>
<p>“However, I suppose some exceptions can be made. You <em>are</em> the first and your kind are unused to the rigour and sacrifices required for success—there were always going to be stumbles.” The headmaster sighed gustily, and then continued: “I will see what I can do about convincing them to delay your start of term. But I expect you to be at your absolute best when you return in October, Mr. Jacobs. We will tolerate nothing less after our leniency. Hopefully you haven’t lost everything you have learned in your months off. You have great potential, Mr. Jacobs; I would hate to see you squander it.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>Mr. Culbertson gave him what he probably thought was a sympathetic smile. The expression made David’s skin crawl. It made him want to flinch. It made him want to sob—in sadness or frustration, he wasn’t sure which. It made him want to slam his fist into the man’s face, to jump up and scream <em>Do you think you are being clever, hiding your contempt in half-truths? Do you think we wanted this to happen? Do you think we planned this—planned scraping by, planned skipping meals, planned working ourselves to the bone to survive? Do you think my family is not slaving away every day, breaking their backs in the hope that I can return here? Do you not realize that everything I am has come from them—that anything good about me is a product of the people you insult and deride?</em> It made him want to run away, run far away, leaving behind all of these supposed gentlemen with their smarmy grins that they thought softened the blow of their prejudice but actually made the words cut deeper.</p>
<p>David did not do any of that. He smiled back.</p>
<p>“Good. I will consult with the board on this matter and send you a letter within a fortnight.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir.”</p>
<p>“You may go.”</p>
<p>He could barely unclench his hands enough to grab his bag.</p>
<p>As he left, from the corner of his eye, David watched as Mr. Culbertson picked up his calculations, shook his head, and scoffed.</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>In the time it took to run home, change clothes, help his father to and from the washroom, and run back to the distribution yard, Jack and his brother were nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>He’d missed the morning edition.</p>
<p>David closed his eyes, took a deep breath into burning lungs, and started making his way to the lodging house.</p>
<p>Climbing the fire escape felt like summiting a mountain. His last step onto the roof was shaky. He blinked away the black spots that hovered in his peripheral to see Jack and Les sitting side by side in the small patch of shade by the chimney.</p>
<p>“There he is!” Jack crowed. “Boy, you missed a real show today. Don’t think I’ve ever seen the Delanceys so– <em>Christ</em>, Davey, you run here from <em>Jersey?</em>”</p>
<p>David opened his mouth to answer. Unfortunately, his lungs decided that, no, they’d had enough for the day, thank you. He doubled over coughing instead.</p>
<p>“Whoa!”</p>
<p>Hands grabbed his shoulders and led him out of the sun and into the shade. The hands guided David to lean against warm bricks, never letting go of him the whole way down, as though they were afraid David would tip over without them there, Fair enough, really, it was a possibility.</p>
<p>Jack hovered as David settled. He was crouched down to eye-level, balancing on the balls on his feet. His steadying hand was still on David’s bicep. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the warmth that emulated from it. He knew he wasn’t imagining the warm concern in his dark eyes, their earnest focus never wavering, gaze searching.</p>
<p>Whatever he found must have satisfied him because Jack grinned and said: “There ya go. Don’t move. I’ll see if I can scrounge up some water.”</p>
<p>With that, Jack stood, saluted, and set off across the roof and down the ladder.</p>
<p>David closed his eyes and tipped his head back until his crown touched the brick. He took a deep breath. The stitch in his side stung with the stretch. He did it again.</p>
<p>A shoulder nudged his arm. He looked down to where his brother had moved closer, legs tucked up, arms wound around them. His nose was ruddy from the sun.</p>
<p>“How’d it go?” he asked.</p>
<p>David took another deep breath. “Fine.”</p>
<p>“You don’t sound fine,” his brother replied immediately.</p>
<p>He sighed. “I am.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not.”</p>
<p>David swallowed, trying to moisten his throat.</p>
<p>“Les, please–”</p>
<p>“I’m just saying you’re not fine.”</p>
<p>“And I’m saying I <em>am</em>.”</p>
<p>“You’re not supposed to lie, remember?”</p>
<p>“I’m not lying, I just don’t want to–”</p>
<p>“He was rude, wasn’t he? I told you he would–”</p>
<p>“Les, would you just–!”</p>
<p>David snapped his eyes and mouth shut tight. He took a deep breath. He swallowed again. The yell had torn at his throat.</p>
<p>“Sorry for yelling.” Even though his volume was much lower, the words still burned.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” his brother said in a small voice.</p>
<p>“It isn’t,” David sighed. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Les nodded. In that same small voice, he asked: “It was really bad, wasn’t it?”</p>
<p>David shook his head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Les allowed. His tone betrayed his irritation, but David could also hear how much he was trying not to sound irritated.</p>
<p>After a beat, David asked: “How did this morning go?”</p>
<p>“Good,” Les answered.</p>
<p>David waited.</p>
<p>Les sighed. “<em>Well</em>.”</p>
<p>“I am pleased to hear it went well,” he replied. “Did you already split the take?”</p>
<p>“We thought we’d wait for you to do the honours.”</p>
<p>David huffed a laugh. “How thoughtful.”</p>
<p>A clatter at the edge of the roof alerted them to Jack’s arrival.</p>
<p>“Okay, so I gotcha some water but it’ll taste weird ‘cause we had to put it in one of the root beer bottles,” he said, making his way over and sitting gracelessly on David’s other side. True to his word, he passed David an old Hires bottle, blessedly cool. “I don’t want no complainin’ after what I just went through to get you this.”</p>
<p>David took a swig and– <em>oh God</em>. Okay, yeah, he’d needed that.</p>
<p>He broke off from the lip of the bottle with a gasp. Almost three-quarters of it was gone. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“No problem, Dave,” Jack said with a chuckle.</p>
<p>It was only then that Jack’s last words dawned on him.</p>
<p>“Did Mr. Kloppman mind?” He had only met the man in passing a few times, but he was quite certain he had never managed to make a good impression—this would probably be another grievance to add to a long list.</p>
<p>Jack snorted, “Nah. He’s used to it. I just had to sacrifice a hell of a lot of dignity is the thing. He uh–” Jack broke off with a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck before continuing “– he might’ve had to stop me from tryin’ to climb back up with a glass.”</p>
<p>It took a moment for the words to sink into David’s still tired mind. He smiled as the meaning came clear.</p>
<p>There was a flush growing on Jack’s cheekbones that David did not think was from the heat. It flared bright and red when he caught David’s grin. Definitely not from the heat.</p>
<p>Jack groaned, “Oh, shut up.”</p>
<p>He took another sip, looking out to the sky. “I haven’t said a thing.”</p>
<p>“You’re thinkin’ it. I can see it in your eyes. All those little thoughts dancin’ around in there.”</p>
<p>Jack wiggled his fingers, as though to demonstrate his point. David laughed and batted them down gently.</p>
<p>“Les told me you haven’t split the take yet.”</p>
<p>“We was waiting for you to do the honours!”</p>
<p>“Yes, he said that too.” David shook his head with a smile and held out his hand. “Alright, lazybones, hand it over.”</p>
<p>Instead of feeling the usual fall of change, he felt warm fingers wrap around his wrist.</p>
<p>Jack was looking at his hand, brows tight, mouth parted. David followed his gaze. Once again, he lost his breath.</p>
<p>“Davey…” he murmured, eyes not moving from the four crescent-shaped bruises on David’s palm. “What–”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing,” David said quickly, yanking his hand out of Jack's grip. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Dave–”</p>
<p>He gulped down the rest of the water and stood quickly. He ignored the dizziness that came with the motion. His hands were in fists he did not remember making.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he said, “Come on, we better go get the next edition.”</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>As he had done every day since their first day of selling, after he toed off his shoes and hung up his hat, Les ran to the bedroom to see their father. David heard the usual cheer of “Lesham! Meyn boychik!” before the door closed and the giggling was muffled by the wood.</p>
<p>His mother was at the stove, stirring a pot of broth. Her brows were drawn tight and her lips were pressed flat. They always were these days. Strands of her hair had escaped her bun, and frizzed around her temples—the humidity and heat brought out her curls, just as it did his and Sarah’s.</p>
<p>He went and stood beside her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “Cześć Mama.”</p>
<p>She smiled slightly. She looked over her shoulders towards the two doors that threatened to open and disturb them.</p>
<p>“How did it go?” she asked in Russian.</p>
<p>He answered in the same: “As well as expected.”</p>
<p>She sighed through her nose. Under his hands, she was quivering with tension.</p>
<p>She deserved so much more than all of this.</p>
<p>David squeezed her shoulder. She turned around, confused. Holding her gaze, moving slowly to give her time to pull away, he pulled her close. She followed easily, winding one hand around his waist, her other coming to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. The pressure of her hand on the back of his head reminded him of when she would guide his head to rest on her shoulder, and he would press tight against her. Now her head fit in his shoulder. The comfort felt the same, even if the position didn’t. Did this new position let his mother share the comfort or if it just made the passage of time—the loss of time—more acute?</p>
<p>She pulled back and smiled up at him. “Спасибо, David.”</p>
<p>For the first time that day, David felt like he could breath.</p>
<p>The front door opened. They both turned.</p>
<p>Sarah was red cheeked. Her braids hadn’t held again, tendrils of long hair escaping around her face and down her back. Her teeth were clenched tight, a muscle jumping at the point the sharp line of her jaw softened to meet her neck.</p>
<p>She turned to see them, opened her mouth, and–</p>
<p>The sob cracked violently, painfully, and her face crumpled with the force of it. She turned and ran out, slamming the door behind her.</p>
<p>He stood with his mother, both frozen. At some point they had stopped holding one another. He didn’t know when that had happened.</p>
<p>“David,” his mother whispered.</p>
<p>He unthawed.</p>
<p>“Mama–”</p>
<p>She nodded. Her eyes were shut so tight her forehead was cut through with deep lines. She stumbled towards the sink, grabbing the edge tight like it was the only thing keeping her from sinking to the floor.</p>
<p>“Go.”</p>
<p>David went.</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>Sarah was not shy with her emotions. She had learned to temper them under the scrutiny of the outside world, but in the Jacobs household she rarely withheld her feelings. When she was angry, she clenched her fists, she scowled. As soon as David and her escaped to the roof, her yells would ring loud. When she was happy, she laughed, open and bright. Smiles grew easily on her lips, so wide her eyes scrunched up. And Sarah cried easily. Tears flowed steadily when she was sad, when she was overjoyed, when she was frustrated.</p>
<p>But David could count on one hand the number of times he saw his sister sob.</p>
<p>She was clearly trying to be quiet. Her hand was pressed so hard against her mouth that the skin on her cheeks was white. Her eyes were screwed shut. Her shoulders twitched time with her stuttered breaths.</p>
<p>David sat beside her.</p>
<p>“Sarah.”</p>
<p>She shook her head.</p>
<p>“Sarah,” he tried again. “Please.”</p>
<p>She dropped her hand from her face. Her lips were trembling. “It won’t change anything.”</p>
<p>“It won’t,” he agreed. He placed his hand between them, a hair away from touching her. “But you’ll feel better for it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to.”</p>
<p>He bumped his shoulder against hers. “I’m your twin brother. You are morally obligated to talk to me.”</p>
<p>She huffed, but there was a twitch of a smile in it. “Oh, am I?”</p>
<p>“I am afraid so.”</p>
<p>She took an unsteady breath and leaned over, resting her chin on her knees. Her arms were wrapped loosely around her legs. David could already see where the dirt of the roof was staining her skirt. Her clothes had been ruined by sweat stains and dye and bleach blots since late July, though. Besides, their mother would never scold her when she was like this.</p>
<p>David did not think of himself as <em>young</em>—he hadn’t for a while. And he had felt the same about Sarah. There had always been something about her that was a little untouchable. Unbreakable. If David was asked, or if he was feeling poetic, he might compare her to a great tree; something that could stand the test of time, something that could withstand any storm and grow back stronger. But now, watching her as she looked out, unseeing eyes glistening, he saw how young she really was, a sapling straining against the harsh wind.</p>
<p>It was hard to look at, hard to accept, but it was easier to see her as young than to see her felled.</p>
<p>“We have to leave the scraps of fabric under the cutter’s tables during the day.” Even on the empty roof, high above the noise of the street, David had to strain to hear his sister. “We don’t have time to empty the bins and they fill up too quickly. In this heat, the windows are kept open because the factory is just… you can barely breathe until you step outside the building. Whenever there’s a breeze the scraps go everywhere, all across the floor. Lucy—she’s nine, her mother hurt her back and they don’t know if she’ll get better—she slipped on one of the pieces and just went…flying. I don’t think she got hurt or anything. She was just <em>scared</em>. But she just started <em>crying</em>. And she couldn’t stop.”</p>
<p>Sarah blinked furiously, tears running down her cheeks and catching on her lashes. “And we were <em>trying</em> to get her to stop but she <em>wouldn’t</em> and one of the supervisors heard and came over to see what was going on. And he– he–”</p>
<p>Sarah drew her legs even closer, winding her arms around them.</p>
<p>Small as she’d made herself, her next words were spat with the fury of one twice her size: “She stopped crying after that but she didn’t stop <em>shaking</em> for the rest of the day.”</p>
<p>David’s blood was so cold he felt numb.</p>
<p>She looked up. The sunlight caught the tears in her eyes and the tracks down her cheeks.</p>
<p>“I can’t… I can’t <em>do</em> this, David. I just- every day I look around the floor and its… it’s an accident waiting to happen. There’s potential for injury in <em>everything</em>, everyone’s tiptoeing around tragedy after tragedy. And I’m surrounded by men who look at me like I’m scum and women who look half-dead and girls that either look at me with fear or like I’m supposed to <em>fix</em> everything, but I… I don’t know if it’s that I can’t or if it’s that I don’t want too, but I just keep my head down and focus on the numbers because if I look up for more than a second, I’m going to start screaming and never stop.”</p>
<p>She was breathing heavily, blinking furiously, trembles running across her body. She looked half-wild, so far from the Sarah that had been a steady and unflappable figure in David’s life, and so achingly familiar to the creature that howled in David’s chest.</p>
<p>“And the worst part–” the words so choked they must have hurt, but they tumbled out like she couldn’t stop them “–the worst part is all I can think about is how much I want to just… <em>leave</em>. I just want to go back to school and sit in an uncomfortable desk and listen to people tell me things I either already know or figured out three days earlier. I want to hear the little girls yelling ‘Miss Sarah!’ down the hallway when they see me. And… <em>God</em>, for a moment I actually thought that I could <em>be</em> that, you know? That I could be <em>Miss Sarah</em>. But there’s no way I’ll pass the admissions tests if I can’t go back to school and who knows how much longer Tata will be like this. I’m just going to be stuck there just working until everyone around me has broken themselves so much that they can no longer work.”</p>
<p>She could barely speak through her sobs. “Or maybe I’ll get married just to get out of it and live the rest of my life waiting for my husband to break himself so badly that I have to send my daughter to work in a job that kills her slowly until she doesn’t want to get up in the morning and can’t–”</p>
<p>David pulled her against him before she finished the sentence.</p>
<p>“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”</p>
<p>She just kept sobbing.</p>
<p>They stayed like that for what felt like an age—Sarah shaking to pieces in his arms as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, hushing her softly as he buried his nose in her hair, a damp patch growing where her face was pressed against him, their hands fisted in one another’s shirts so tight there would be wrinkles.</p>
<p>She pulled away eventually, when her sobs no longer cracked, but her breathing was still uneven. Her face was pale, her eyes and nose red.</p>
<p>She sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand under her nose. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Shh,” he said once more, pulling her in for another embrace. “You don’t have to apologize, Sarah.”</p>
<p>“I do. Your shirt is all gross now.”</p>
<p>He shrugged. “It’ll wash.”</p>
<p>“I’m still sorry.” She sniffled again. “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “No more of that. In fact, you’re not allowed to apologize.”</p>
<p>Another sniffle. “I’m not, am I?”</p>
<p>“It is absolutely unacceptable.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well my apologies.”</p>
<p>He jostled her. “Watch it.”</p>
<p>He was sure she was smiling, but he wasn’t going to let her go to check.</p>
<p>She shifted so that her head rested against his shoulder. “You can ask.”</p>
<p>He hummed, and still waited a few more moments before doing so: “What admissions test?”</p>
<p>“For teaching college.”</p>
<p>“Teaching college?”</p>
<p>He felt her nod. “It was Ms. Graham’s idea—you know, the one I’ve been assisting. Her and Mr. Harrison were going to reach out to someone he knew who had connections with- it doesn’t matter.” She wiped at her eyes. “We only started discussing it in April. Nothing was ever confirmed. We were going to talk about it again when the new school year started, and now… anyways. I don’t know. I was going to tell you but I just… I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”</p>
<p><em>Including mine</em>, David heard her not say.</p>
<p>A thousand responses flew into David’s head. <em>That’s amazing, it’s perfect, you would be a wonderful teacher, there could never be anyone in the world who deserves such an opportunity more than you</em>. None of them fit in this new world of afters and compromises.</p>
<p>Instead, he offered the only thing he could.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry Sarah.”</p>
<p>She was trembling again. “I just– when the doctor came in July and said– I <em>know</em> he wasn’t sure and I <em>know</em> he also said it was unlikely so I <em>know</em> it’s a stupid thing to believe, but I– I thought he’d be <em>better</em>–”</p>
<p>Her voice broke to pieces.</p>
<p>David tightened his hold. “Oh, <em>Sarah</em>.”</p>
<p>“I’m so <em>stupid</em>.”</p>
<p>“No. No, you’re not stupid.”</p>
<p>“I am,” she moaned, another sob wracking her frame.</p>
<p>“You’re not,” he repeated firmly. “Jacobs aren’t stupid, remember?”</p>
<p>He was pretty sure she laughed, but the sound was too close to a sob for it to really count.</p>
<p>“We just…” He blinked, letting some of his own tears spill down his cheeks. “Sometimes we think the world is better than it is.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like stupidity.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s idealism. It isn’t a bad quality, it just… sometimes it hurts.”</p>
<p>Another laugh-sob. “Stop being reasonable. I want to be upset.”</p>
<p>“You can be upset all you want,” he assured her, “but I’m afraid you are not allowed to be upset with yourself.”</p>
<p>“Who made all these rules?”</p>
<p>“Oh, these rules have been in place since the beginning.” He lowered his voice and continued on to say: “<em>And on the seventh day, God finished His work which He had made; and suddenly He remembered He forgot something and decreed ‘and also, Sarah Jacobs shall never be permitted to speak ill of herself’; and then He rested.</em>”</p>
<p>She snorted. It was far phlegmier than usual. “I don’t remember that.”</p>
<p>“You were sick that day,” he said morosely.</p>
<p>“And it hasn’t come up since, has it?”</p>
<p>“You were sick those days, too.”</p>
<p>“Funny I don’t remember any of this.”</p>
<p>“Such terrible colds.”</p>
<p>Her laughter was much clearer that time.</p>
<p>She shifted in his arms. She didn’t move away, though, so he didn’t let go. Instead she wrapped her arms around him, too, curled up small, tucked against him.</p>
<p> “Thank you,” she said into his tear and snot-stained shirt.</p>
<p>He smiled though she couldn’t see it. “Of course.”</p>
<p>The city was still busy beneath them, the bustle of end-of-day, people rushing home or rushing away from work they could barely stand to shoulder.</p>
<p>Sarah’s next words were quiet, as though she worried that all of New York would hear her if she spoke louder than a whisper, as though by saying them out loud someone would take them away, someone would work against them.</p>
<p>“David,” she said. “Tell me we’ll be okay.”</p>
<p>“We will be, Sarah. I promise.”</p>
<p>She nodded. He wasn’t sure if action confirmed or denied that he was a terrible liar. He squeezed her tighter nonetheless.</p>
<p>“It will be alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p>
<p>"Lesham! Meyn boychik!": Lesham! My boy! [Yiddish]<br/>"Cześć Mama": Hello Mama [Polish]<br/>"Спасибо, David": Thank you, David [Russian]<br/> <br/>Sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Raconteur: September 17, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the comments/kudos, sorry for the tears? </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: Implied/referenced sexism, racism, and homophobia, internalized homophobia, period-typical clumsiness around discussing non-conforming genders, period-atypical acceptance of all these subjects.</p><p>This list is exhaustive, but this chapter is mostly just “hey, time to get you caught up on all the hot newsies gossip!” and living up to that Crutchie &amp; David Jacobs tag.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Raconteur</strong> <em>n.</em> a person skilled in telling stories; one who excels in sharing anecdotes in an amusing way [English/French, from Middle French <em>raconter</em>, to tell, from Old French <em>re</em> + <em>aconter</em>, <em>acompter</em> to tell]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>September 17, 1899</strong>
</p><p>Sometimes autumn blew into the city with bluster. It announced itself with winds that stole away summer hats; it covered the sun of the previous season with thick white clouds; it sent leaves from Central Park all the way to Brooklyn. This year autumn arrived slowly, barely perceptible except for small daily drops in temperature.</p><p>In all his worry leading up to the High Holy Days David hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t felt the absence of oppressive heat in the moments of joy and connection that they shared with one another and their community. He had barely been aware of his surroundings when he was overcome with the swell of emotion that always burst in his chest with the way Rabbi Amos’s voice trembled during Ne’ila but never broke or faltered, and he hadn’t felt the cool breezes that must have accompanied them on their walk home. David didn’t register the shift until he walked through the door last Friday to see the Shabbat challah cooling on the table. It took seeing the bread and not also cursing the sweltering heat of the stove that birthed it for him to realize that summer had indeed passed.</p><p>Summer had entered with a roar. It felt like it would never leave. But it had finished its work quietly and departed, passing the world to autumn’s outstretched hand without ceremony.</p><p>The Jacobs settled along with it. The harsh emotions of confronting truths they knew but refused to speak aloud faded into resignation. Sarah’s long-coming but unexpected outburst had marked the turn from dread to acceptance. While the circumstances had not improved, they were better at helping one another shoulder them. They knew to see how Sarah’s tiredness dug past her bones and to her soul; they knew to support her as she managed the pain of her muscles and the pain in her heart. And they saw how Mama shook at the stove and hurried her off to sit with Tata when they came home—for they also now saw how their father’s spirits were sinking at the sight of them all. It turned out Les was better at cutting vegetables than any of them had ever given him credit for, and he seemed happier for the chance to help. And David would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for the way his parents smiled and shooed them off to spend more time with his new friends.</p><p>Mr. Culbertson’s secretary had written to him nine days after their meeting. David had until October 16th to return to Barnett. He told his parents his request had been granted. He shrugged off their requests for more details.</p><p>As expected, in the half-day David had been gone, Les had happily informed anyone who had asked why he was selling without his older brother. Les accompanied this explanation with his own highly biased assessment of Barnett Preparatory Academy. David’s friends gave him a day’s grace before the questions started.</p><p>They all had a similar order of reactions.</p><p>First was disbelief:</p><p>
  <em>For real?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Naw, I ain’t buyin’ it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As in the fancy buildin’ with the pointy gates? The castle one? That the one you’re talkin’ ‘bout? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Youse is jokin’, ain’tcha? Youse is havin’ me on again. C’mon Davey; drop the straight face and give it to me straight.</em>
</p><p>Next came the shock:</p><p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jesus fuckin’ Christ.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh. Well… okay. I, uh… okay, Davey.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Youse is… youse is serious. You go– with all those rich kids?</em>
</p><p>Then his explanations quickly brought about confusion:</p><p>
  <em>The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The fuck does “Prep’ratory Academy” even mean? Why not just call it a school?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right. Right… No, sorry. One more time, Davey.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wait, so they pays for you to go there but they make you get the get-up for yourself? What a scam! It ain’t like you can wear that monkey suit to other spots!</em>
</p><p>And finally, miraculously, the reveal was met with acceptance:</p><p>
  <em>Okay then.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Spose you had to get all that fancy book learnin’ from somewhere. Guess I oughta send ‘em a thank-you letter considerin’ I’ve been gettin’ education from ‘em for free, too. Hey, could use some of your words too. Remind me how you spell “ostentatious”?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Y’know that’s pretty neat, Davey. Why didn’t ya say something ‘bout it earlier?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alright, alright, geez, Dave. I’ll drop it. But I’m with your brother on this one, these teachers of yours sound like right– OW! Quit that! Papes are for sellin’! Papes ain’t for whackin'! Hey, no– DAVEY!</em>
</p><p>Life continued.</p><p>And so, on a breezy September morning, David expected that he and Les would go to the distribution yard, wait for Jack to purchase their papes, split them up between the three of them, and then carry on their way.</p><p>So it was a bit of a surprise when they were intercepted at the gates and turned around quickly by Jack and Crutchie, and hurried away from the sound of yelling and laughter.</p><p>David let himself be herded a block away and behind a corner before he turned on the red-faced giggling pair of fools.</p><p>“What did you do?” David asked immediately.</p><p>“Nothin'!” Jack said.</p><p>“What did Race do?” David amended.</p><p>“…Somethin'.”</p><p>“<em>Jack</em>.”</p><p>“So, Specs mighta managed to sneak some of his donut from the nuns and Race mighta used it to lure a rat to the yard and then snuck the rat and the donut up on the platform before Morris went up with his breakfast. And the rat mighta thought that was <em>also</em> for sharin’ and-”</p><p>David pinched the bridge of his nose. “Say no more.”</p><p>“No, say the rest,” Les said.</p><p>Jack tapped the side of his nose with a smirk, which David was certain was not usually a gesture used to say <em>yes, I will tell you the story and put terrible ideas in your head as soon as your caring and protective older brother is out of earshot</em>, but Jack was inventive and a skilled communicator so it worked.</p><p>Jack caught David’s disapproving look and put his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and whistling serenely.</p><p>David pursed his lips to stop his smile and continued on to say: “I don’t understand how he keeps managing to do things like this. You think the Delanceys would know to look out for his mischief at this point.”</p><p>Jack smirked. “Well, sure, but they were too busy talkin’ to Crutchie to be lookin’ at Race.”</p><p>David turned to the boy in question.</p><p>The boy in question smiled wide and beatific. “They think I’m harmless.”</p><p>Jack and Les snorted while David shook his head.</p><p>“Did you at least get the papes before this all happened?”</p><p>“Whatcha take me for Davey? An amature?” Jack demanded, pulling a wad from his satchel.</p><p>“Well, I’ve spent the last two months thinking Crutchie was one of the reasonable ones, so my expectations of people are clearly flawed.” David said mildly. “I am reeling.”</p><p>Jack laughed. “Sorry, Dave. Trust me, better to find out now when he’s goin’ after other people than to learn for yourself.”</p><p>“When did I ever–?”</p><p>“Ash Wednesday.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>David looked between them. “I don’t want to know.”</p><p>“I do.” Les chirped.</p><p>Jack tapped the side of his nose.</p><p>David sighed. “Alright, Crutchie did you want to sell with Les today?”</p><p>“Actually, I was thinkin’ <em>I</em> could sell with Les and <em>you</em> could sell with Crutchie,” Jack offered.</p><p>“Fine by me,” Crutchie answered. "Hey, is Katherine comin' by?"</p><p>"Uh... naw. She's busy."</p><p>"Too bad."</p><p>His brother was still jumping up and down at the idea. “Oh, please, David? Please?”</p><p>They all turned to David.</p><p>David knew that Jack and Les wanting to go off on their own meant that they were probably going to spin a tale of woe so complex that any self respecting author would hide within earshot and copy it in its entirety so that he could turn around and hand it off to his publisher. David did not <em>approve</em> of this, of course, because he had a responsibility to his brother’s wellbeing and a lot of explaining to do if it got back to his parents, but… well, it was a little funny. So sometimes he let them escape his consternation.</p><p>As such, that wasn’t the reason for his reluctance.</p><p>It wasn’t that David didn’t <em>like</em> Crutchie. Quite the opposite was true. But, in their two months of knowing each other, he hadn’t really spent time <em>alone</em> with him. And when he did spend time with him it was with Jack, who carried conversations like they were light as a feather, or Race, who could probably make a statue break it’s reticence.</p><p>There was no good way to say <em>No, don’t go selling on your own and leave me with someone I genuinely like as a person but don’t know how to talk to without you there to hold my hand through it.</em></p><p>Under the combined pressure of three beseeching expressions, though, his resolve and hesitancy crumbled.</p><p>“How about we meet at the lodging house later, then?”</p><p>Les cheered. Jack smiled so wide it crinkled his warm brown eyes. David knew he’d made the right decision.</p><p>..........</p><p>For all he’d <em>heard</em> of Crutchie’s ability to sell a pape, David had never seen it for himself.</p><p>It made sense why Les and Jack were the only ones who agreed to sell with him; Crutchie swept up the attention and sympathy of everyone on the street. He laughed when David pointed this out and blushed slightly at the compliments that accompanied the observation. He told him to head over to the other corner so that he could have first crack at folks.</p><p>David followed the advice immediately. He had also been feeling increasingly nauseous at the sympathetic and cloying smiles people gave Crutchie, and he didn’t want to risk doing something neither of them would appreciate.</p><p>All in all, it was a fairly good day. They only had a few papes left between them—well, David had five and Crutchie had one. They returned them for a refund as the wind picked up, discouraging people from adding to their list of things they needed to make sure didn’t blow away. Albert was there as well, and happily informed them that Jack and Les had come back to grab a few more papes earlier, moving their performance three blocks east, encouraged by the success of their operation.</p><p>“Your brother’s really somethin’, Davey,” Albert said with an approving shake of his head.</p><p>“He really is,” David agreed, shaking his head for an entirely different reason.</p><p>“We’re headin’ to Jacobi’s. Katherine said she might stop by. You comin’?”</p><p>“Nah, we’re goin’ back to the lodging house,” Crutchie answered.</p><p>David looked over in surprise, but Albert just shrugged and said: “Sure. See ya later.”</p><p>“You don’t want to go with them?” David asked as the other boy ran off.</p><p>“We’re meetin’ Jack and Les at the lodging house, remember?” Crutchie said, holding onto his cap as they walked out of the distribution yard.</p><p>“No, I know I’m meeting my brother there,” David replied. “You don’t have to stay with me, though.”</p><p>“Sure I do. And, ‘sides, this wind’ll die down in a bit. Let’s head up to the penthouse. I’m tryin to stay out as long as I can while I can.”</p><p>David smiled at the other boy’s kindness. “Really, Crutchie, it’s okay. You don’t have to spend time with me.”</p><p>Crutchie just looked at him blankly. Then he frowned and whacked him in the shin with his crutch.</p><p>David jumped away. “Ow!”</p><p>“Davey,” Crutchie huffed, “I want to spend time with you.”</p><p>David blinked, still rubbing his leg. “Oh.”</p><p>“<em>You don’t hafta spend time with me</em>,” Crutchie said in an aggressively refined accent, the sort Jack used whenever he mimicked David. “Geez. C’mon, Davey. For that youse is helpin’ me get up the ladder.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” David said in absence of any other reaction.</p><p>They were only a few blocks out from the lodging house so it was a quick walk. They spent the walk passing stories back and forth. Crutchie started off by sharing Henry’s latest embarrassment in front of Sniper— “remind me to get you in on that later” —and then launched into explaining how Buttons had almost taken out Mush’s eye when he snuck up on him doing repairs. David responded with the story of how Sarah had once accidentally embroidered her project to her skirt.</p><p>“What your Ma say to <em>that</em>,” Crutchie asked through his laughter.</p><p>“She just helped her take the stitches out. Sarah was really disappointed so my father made jokes about it until we were all laughing.”</p><p>“Aww. They’re a good sort, your folks. Hope she don’t go doin’ that at work, though. I can’t imagine that goin’ over well. She works at the Triangle, right?”</p><p>“No, they wouldn’t hire her.”</p><p>Crutchie paused at that, crutch hitting the pavement hard to support the abrupt stop. “<em>Really?</em>”</p><p>“Mhmm,” David hummed in confirmation.</p><p>“<em>Weird</em>.” They continued walking. “I thought they took anyone.”</p><p>“So did we.” Sarah’s confusion had been audible when she told him how they almost tossed them out of the building. His mother refused to speak of it. “In any case, she got a place in a different one—gingham dresses. It’s…” <em>it’s an accident waiting to happen</em> “it’s a job."</p><p>Crutchie grimaced. “That bad, huh? Yeah. There’s been a few days Sniper’s come in just frothin’ at the mouth ‘bout laundry—I can’t imagine havin’ to make the duds is any better.”</p><p>“Probably a little better,” David offered as they turned the last corner. “I do know a bit about laundering clothing—my mother does laundry out of our home. The only reason <em>she</em> hasn’t lost her mind is her embroidery and sewing commissions. She’s too smart for it, really, that’s the biggest trouble.” His head caught up with his mouth and his stomach dropped. “Oh, not that the other’s Sniper isn’t smart! I mean, if Sniper hates it then he’s obviously smart. No, wait, I mean–”</p><p>The other newsie was just grinning, though. “You’ve got a real talent for puttin’ your foot in your mouth, you know that, Davey?”</p><p>He knew. “Sorry.”</p><p>“I’m messin’ with ya,” Crutchie comforted. “I know whatcha mean.”</p><p>David released a puff of air and some of the tension in his shoulders. “Oh… sorry.”</p><p>“No worries. Now c’mon. I’m pretty good at this now but if I start slippin’ just, y’know, don’t let me fall to my death.”</p><p>“Oh, but what a headline that would be,” David drawled, smiling as Crutchie laughed and swung at him.</p><p>Crutchie hadn’t been lying; he was good at climbing. He was practically pulling himself up the whole way. There was only one stop where David had to reach up and stabilize him, hand on the small of his back, and even then Crutchie just caught his breath and continued on. He was still pretty winded when they got up to the top, though, so David helped him sit in the shade and waited for him to start talking again.</p><p>It didn’t take long and the topic sure surprised him.</p><p>“You know,” he started, shifting so that his good leg was drawn up, arms around his knee, “the more I hear ‘bout your folks the more I wanna meet ‘em.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Considerin’ the kids they made and raised?” Crutchie arched his brow and nodded slowly, emphasizing the words: “Oh yeah.”</p><p>David tried to imagine introducing the newsies to his father. To his <em>mother</em>. It was hard to reconcile the two worlds.</p><p>“Maybe,” he said slowly. “They don’t… they don’t speak English very well, so we don’t have much company over that isn’t from the neighbourhood.”</p><p>“Really? Oh, yeah! Youse is Polish, right?”</p><p>“Yes.” It still felt strange to admit it, but the anxiety was now accompanied by the thrill of freedom.</p><p>Crutchie shook his head. “I always forget that with your fancy accent.”</p><p>“Fancy?”</p><p>“Sure. You talk near as fancy as Katherine.”</p><p>“Oh,” he mulled the thought over before he confessed: “Well… my first-grade teacher was a stickler for proper grammar and pronunciation and she made sure her lessons stuck. But I think the accent only developed when I started attending Barnett. They didn’t like any of my other accents so I adapted. Until we started selling, school was where I spoke the majority of my English. It’s just my accent now, just like I speak Polish and Yiddish the way my parents speak Polish and Yiddish.”</p><p>“Makes sense.” Crutchie replied easily. “You think it’ll be hard to go back? To school I mean.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” David answered. As much he knew the other boy wouldn’t judge him for them, his anxieties towards his education didn’t really suit the mood of the sunny day. “It helps that no one outside of school calls me Mr. Jacobs or Jacobs—I hear that and I just… settle back into the routine that comes with school.”</p><p>“Jacobs, huh?”</p><p>He turned at that. Crutchie was looking at him with a slight smirk and a considering tilt of his head.</p><p>David shifted at the outright observation. “What?”</p><p>Crutchie shrugged, smirk widening. “I mean, I heard the other boys call you and your brother it, but I don’t think <em>you</em> ever told me your full name before."</p><p>“Oh.” <em>Whoops</em>. He turned to face Crutchie properly and presented his hand with a nod. “David Jacobs, at your service.”</p><p>The newsie smirked and took it—without spit, even—and replied. “Charlie Morris. At yours.”</p><p>David blinked, thrown, and Crutchie’s smirk only grew.</p><p><em>Huh</em>, he thought as he dropped his hand with a grin and a shake of his head.</p><p>“Pleased to finally be acquainted, Mr. Morris.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Crutchie scrunched his face with the force of his disgust. “No. No that ain’t good. We’s is stickin’ to Crutchie.”</p><p>David smiled. “Alright.” He paused, and then admitted: “I think I’m starting to prefer Davey, too.”</p><p>“Glad to hear, Davey, ‘cause I think you’re stuck with it. No way we’re gonna call you <em>Mr. Jacobs</em>.”</p><p>He laughed at the thought. “I wouldn’t expect you to. As I said, that’s really just a school thing—I don’t think I’d know what I’d do if people called me that all day every day.”</p><p>“You must not miss it then.”</p><p>“What? Barnett?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>The simple answer was there—<em>no, of course I don’t miss it</em>—but the simple answers were never really enough these days. They had never been enough to describe David’s schooling. Sarah knew it; Sarah lived it. Jack knew some of it, of course. Les didn’t quite understand yet, but he would when he was older and the greys started to blur into his black and white view of the world. As for the rest of the boys, David had been happy to let them come to their own conclusions, only really stepping in when they were drastically off course. But Crutchie…</p><p>If things had gone differently Jack would have been the face of the strike, David would have been the brains, Katherine would have been the voice, and Crutchie would have been the heart. Or maybe he was and always had been. If anyone could fuel the hope of thousands of children while lying beaten in a decrepit cell it was him.</p><p>Crutchie saw people. Crutchie was the one that hit Jack upside the head after wrestling his shirts up right in the middle of the street, two days after the strike, to reveal bruises so dark David had gasped at the sight of them. Crutchie knew when people were struggling. He knew when to push and prod and when to leave be. Crutchie was the one that walked in with Jack every morning and let him know the lay of the land. He knew how much Jack appreciated it as he was forced to spend his time dealing with politics instead of spending it with his family. Crutchie would tell him about Race’s tomfoolery, about whether Albert was having a harder time of it than usual, or about which little one wasn’t doing too good with selling and <em>could they tag on with you and Davey? It’d be good for them to see you two as newsies not just leaders</em>. Crutchie saw people as they were and he let them be just that. He supported them in being them.</p><p>Crutchie respected honesty, and he deserved honesty because of it.</p><p>“I miss learning,” David said, voice stronger than he thought it would be.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Crutchie asked with genuine curiosity.</p><p>The sound of it was encouraging, so David continued. “I mean… at least once a week one of the teachers would say something or I would read something or… maybe it was just that the pieces would finally come together and I would <em>understand</em>. In any case, it felt like I’d figure out something new about the world that I could carry with me. It wasn’t always that it was something I could use. It rarely was something I could use, actually. But it was nice just to have it... I don’t know,” he brought his hands forward, fiddling his fingers around one of their hard-earned pennies, “I don’t really know how to talk about it.”</p><p>“You’re doin’ fine so far,” Crutchie replied.</p><p>“If you say so,” he said with a shrug. “I guess that’s the other thing I miss really.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Not having to talk so much.”</p><p>“Not talkin’? Can’t say I can picture you as bein’ all that quiet, Davey.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “No, I mean… I talk a lot but I’m a better writer. I miss writing.”</p><p>“<em>Really?</em>”</p><p>“What’s with <em>that</em> tone?” he asked.</p><p>“Don’t think I heard of anyone who <em>likes</em> writin’—even Katherine talks about it like it’s her enemy and people pay her to do it!”</p><p>That startled a laugh out of him. “Maybe. I don’t mean that it’s… easier or anything. I don’t think that’s a fair comparison. But I’m better at thinking through things that I write. Sometimes I feel like half the time my mouth just does whatever it wants—or maybe it’s just that my thoughts come a little to fast. Writing gives me time to sort through them before I express them. I feel like I have more of a choice, I guess. I can pick the best words and the best turns of phrase and sort of… manipulate them, I guess? There’s sort of a process I have to go through before I really commit to my thoughts and ideas. Um.” David cut himself off, realizing he’d once again gone on too long. “Anyways. That’s why. You never feel like that?”</p><p>“Nah,” Crutchie said easily. “I just like talkin’ to folks, really.”</p><p>“You’re very good at it,” David offered.</p><p>Crutchie smiled. “Thanks, Davey.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Silence settled over them again, soft and comfortable, the sort David used to only have with his family, or with Sarah; the sort he now sometimes got to share with Jack. It was nice to add to the list.</p><p>Crutchie was the one to disrupt it, tone amused: “Oh, hey, before I forget again, do you want in on the bet for Henry and Sniper?”</p><p>“Bet?” David asked.</p><p>“For them getting’ together.”</p><p>The words hit hard and heavy, sinking the light feeling in his chest.</p><p>“I– I don’t think they’re–” he stuttered</p><p>Crutchie just snorted. “Yeah, they are.”</p><p>It was times like these that David wished he was a better liar.</p><p>He shook his head firmly. “No, you must be mistaken.”</p><p>“You got eyes, Davey. And I saw you that time Sniper–”</p><p>“Crutchie,” he interrupted, as firmly as he could while remaining quiet, aware of the ears on the street storeys below them, “I’m not going to go guessing at that.”</p><p>“Is this another weird <em>principle</em> thing?”</p><p>“What? <em>No!</em> People– people <em>die</em> for these sorts of rumours!”</p><p>“The hell are you– just ‘cause he’s Black and she’s Chinese?” Crutchie looked completely betrayed. “Where the hell is all this comin’ from, Davey?”</p><p>“No!” he defended. “Wait, <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“What do you mean <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> mean <em>what</em>, Crutchie? It’s not…” he lowered his voice, leaning forward, “it’s not what’s <em>different</em> that’s dangerous here.”</p><p>“The hell are you– wait. Wait one goddamn second.” The other boy was smiling wide now, and David knew immediately that he was about to regret a lot of things. “Davey, do you not know Sniper’s a girl?”</p><p>David blinked. He blinked again. Then he collected his frayed thoughts and spoke: “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“Oh my god, Davey.”</p><p>It’s as if someone hit him in the head hard enough to dislodge an entire slew of memories—the way Sniper was always wearing a cap and refused to take off his– <em>her</em> flannel when even he was so hot that he couldn’t stand to uphold propriety.</p><p>“Oh,” he said. “OH.”</p><p>He remembered one particularly confusing time when they had left Jacobi and Finch had taken one of the half-burned buns Jacobi had brought out for them to share and launched it expertly at the window of Wah’s Laundry, the roll hitting the glass and bouncing into the window box, and yelled “YOU OWE ME”. David had whacked him upside the head for it, admonishing him so fiercely that Jack had been reduced to tears of laughter.</p><p>Much like Crutchie was now.</p><p>“Sorry, just–” the other boy forced out once he was marginally more under control, “your <em>face</em>.”</p><p>David was pretty sure he could fry an egg on his face with how hot his cheeks felt, so he couldn’t really blame the other boy for laughing.</p><p>He could fuss a bit, though. That ought to still be allowed.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he groaned “Laugh it up.”</p><p>“Davey, youse is <em>smart</em>. Youse is probably the smartest guy I’ve <em>met</em>. How’d you not–”</p><p>He threw his hands up. “I wasn’t looking!”</p><p>“Okay, fair.” Crutchie blew away the last of his laughter with a drawn out whew and wipes the last few tears from his eyes. “Not many do. I mean, ‘sides the other guys there’s only a few folks from her neighbourhood that know and none’a them would tell.”</p><p>“I… why though?”</p><p>“It’s safer.” Crutchie said on a shrug. “I mean, yeah there are girl newsies, but it was different for her. Her dad don’t approve for one, so it helps her avoid him. And she was already ‘bout fourteen when she started sellin’ and there were a few times…well, it’s safer is all.”</p><p>David once again felt cold as the implications that underlined the other boy’s omissions washed over him. “Shit.”</p><p>Crutchie laughed as all the newsies still did when he swore. “Yeah, that’s the best word for it. You don’t need to know the details and she wouldn’t like me tellin’. No offence.”</p><p>“None taken,” David said quickly.</p><p>Crutchie smiled before continuing. “Anyways, she started stuffin her hair up and wearin’ baggy clothes pretty soon after. And, <em>geez</em>, if she didn’t go earnin’ her nickname fast. Don’t think I’ve ever seen no one with as good as aim as that gal—Finch is the only one that won’t admit it, but that’s mostly ‘cause Sniper takes any chance to show him up and it’s one’a the few things guaranteed to make her smile. And we all help some, backing her up and covering if anyone looks at her wrong.” He tipped his head to the side, considering. “Come to think of it, I think Jack mighta been the one to suggest it. He took the whole thing pretty hard.”</p><p>Of course he did. “He would.”</p><p>“You really don’t notice, though?” The smirk stretched again. “So you probably don’t know ‘bout Smalls either, then?”</p><p>“Oh for– <em>seriously?</em>”</p><p>“Shit, Davey.” Crutchie laughed loud and bright. “Youse is hopeless.”</p><p>He shook his head at the remark, but couldn’t even bring himself to argue. He always thought his situation awareness was pretty strong—it had to be. Apparently not.</p><p>“Though… Smalls ain’t the same as Sniper.” Crutchie mused.</p><p>He didn’t elaborate, though, so David prompted: “How so?”</p><p>“Right, uh…” the other boy scratched his head. “Best I can explain is you couldn’t get Sniper to cut her hair <em>or</em> wear a dress if your life depended on it, but Smalls would do either just for kicks.”</p><p>David paused, mulled the thought over and said: “That is a very good explanation of their persons but a terrible explanation for the situation.”</p><p>Crutchie burst out laughing. Despite how out of his depth he still felt, David smiled at the knowledge he could still make the other boy laugh.</p><p>“Fair.” Crutchie acquiesced. “Look, pretty much the <em>situation</em> is that Sniper’s kinda chompin’ at the bit to be able to do all her usual stuff—sellin’, hangin’ out with the boys, wearin’ trousers—<em>and</em> be a girl while doin’ it. With Smalls it don’t matter either way. Girl. Boy. Smalls is Smalls. Kid’d be perfectly happy bouncin’ round in trousers till the cows come home. Far as we know he’s really livin’ up bein’ a boy as long as he can but there could just as well be a day Smalls comes in wearin’ a dress and twirlin’ ‘round.”</p><p>David tipped his head to the side as he considered this.</p><p>He didn’t really understand either point—not <em>really</em>, though he supposed he could empathise with the desire to be all parts of yourself without fear. And he could understand the ever-present judgement that forced you not to do so. But he couldn’t pretend either was enough.</p><p>Thankfully he didn’t have to fully understand it to respect it.</p><p>“Alright. So… I should continue treating Smalls as I have been treating…him?” Crutchie shrugged and nodded. “But I should make an effort to refer to Sniper as a girl without changing how I have treated…<em>her</em> when we’re all in private or a safer place.”</p><p>“Got it in one. Also, don’t go callin’ Snipes anything other than <em>Sniper</em> unless she told ya you could. Race tried it once just to be a pest and she taught him fast what lines are safe to toe. All that washin’ builds muscles, turns out. His shoulder was sore for weeks. And keep to referin’ to her as <em>him</em> to other folks.”</p><p>David nodded. “Right. Could I… would it be alright if I tell Les and Sarah? I don’t want either of them making a mistake with it just because they didn’t realize it.”</p><p>“Les beat you to this one, Davey, but go ahead and tell Sarah. Mind… do you think Sarah’s in the market for other friends?”</p><p>He smiled at the thought of his sister’s excitement at the offer. “She could be convinced.”</p><p>“Davey, if you could sick your sister on Sniper that might be the best thing I’ve ever seen. She’d be good with the whole thing, too. She’s kinda like you; she’d good at knowin’ when to let folks be. And Sniper’d be jumpin’ up and down to complain ‘bout laundry to someone who actually <em>gets it</em>—there’s only so much comfort one can get from other folks noddin’ and sayin’ ‘wow, that does sound bad’, you know?”</p><p>“Consider it done.”</p><p>“But, wait a sec, far as actually managin’ to <em>notice</em> things, how did you know ‘bout Sniper and Henry’s whole thing but never put the girl thing together?”</p><p>“Sniper and Henry aren’t subtle,” David countered.</p><p>Crutchie laughed again. “True. Sniper’s much better at hidin’ her hair than she is at hidin’ her feelin’s.”</p><p>“I was thinking about Henry,” David admitted. “Do you remember when I brought those apples in for some of the boys a few weeks ago?”</p><p>Crutchie squinted as he tried to recall the memory. “That was right after uh… Roch Hashnah, right?”</p><p>David smiled. “Rosh Hashanah, but you were close. When I gave Henry his, he practically snatched it right out of my hand and ran to share it with Sniper. Unfortunately, he spent a good five minutes babbling about how tasty apples are instead of actually saying the words ‘would you like to share this with me’. Sniper just stared at him blankly the entire time. Eventually Mush took pity on Henry and sliced it in half for them.”</p><p>“Oh, Mush definitely took pity, but it was on Blink if it was on anyone. What you must not’ve seen was Blink elbowin’ Sniper in the side the whole while, tryin’ to get her to actually say somethin’. Poor girl just freezes whenever Henry so much as looks at her, ‘cept when Snipes freezes her face gets all scary so Henry gets to thinkin’ she hates him and tries to make it up to her by doin’ nice things, which, course, only makes her freeze more.”</p><p>David shook his head. There was nothing he really could say to that besides: “Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah. Wow.”</p><p>“That is…uh…” David tried to find the words for such a tangled web of tragic irony. Ultimately, he decided on: “That’s kind of spectacular.”</p><p>“It sure it somethin’,” Crutchie agreed. “But what I’s is tryin’ to say is… you knew they was…interested in each other…but you didn’t know she was a she?”</p><p>David felt very cold.</p><p>He knew they’d circle back to it.</p><p>He looked down, unable to meet the other boy’s questioning eyes. “So what?”</p><p>"Hey, what’s with the–? Wait. No, Davey. Ugh, I just screwed this all up.”</p><p>He looked up at that. Crutchie was grimacing a bit, one hand resting on his knee while his other pushed his fringe away from his forehead. Crutchie looked over to him and shrugged, blowing out a puff of air before he dropped his arm, motion heavy.</p><p>“Look, we’s is careful ‘bout it, of course,” he started, “but I guess, for some of us, the few that <em>know</em>, with everythin’ else goin’ on, that sorta stuff is a bit less of a…you know, fancy word for a real big fuss?”</p><p>“A scandal?” David offered.</p><p>“That’s the one. We just…you know.” Crutchie shrugged. “We’s is careful ‘bout it—any of it—and we make sure each other’s careful ‘bout it, but most’a us that’ve been ‘round for long enough and we’s seen enough bad things that if a thing folks think is bad turns out to be kinda good… well, we might turn the other way.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>“I mean, Sniper and Henry?” He broke off with a laugh. “We all know they’ve had a hard go of it separately let alone together. Henry’s background ain’t no fairy tale story, and Sniper’s Dad is…well, there’s a reason she’s with us as much as she is. If those two manage to find any kinda happiness with each other, who are we to stop it?”</p><p>The weight of the words hit hard with the sincerity they were spoken.</p><p>In a much lighter tone, and with his characteristic smile, Crutchie continued: “‘sides, those two are enough of a disaster without trying to think about the properness of it. If the two of them ever manage to start getting’ to it, I ain’t gonna be shocked ‘cause their folk’s come from different places. It’s the fact that them courtin’ would mean Sniper had managed saying the words ‘I’ and ‘like’ and ‘you’ strung together. I love the gal, but she keeps her cards so close to her chest she’s practically stuffin’ ‘em down her shirt.”</p><p>The image startled a laugh out of him. Crutchie looked very proud at the sound.</p><p>The other boy continued once more: “But, yeah. So long as no one gets hurt, folks are bein’ cautious, and no one’s tryin’ to cause trouble, most’ve us ain’t gonna say a thing about if… if some fellas start wantin’ to find comfort in one another.”</p><p>David could barely breathe enough to say: “Oh…”</p><p>“In fact, we might…uh… we might support ‘em with it.”</p><p>“Oh.” The word was no stronger with it’s second utterance.</p><p>That was… that was a lot to think about.</p><p>“Look, I know it’s a lot. It was when I first came, but I’m trustin’ you here. I’m trustin’ that you’re the sort of good sort that you’ve been all along.”</p><p>David blinked out of his thoughts and looked up. “Pardon?”</p><p>Crutchie was looking at him directly, turned as far to the side as he could sitting up as he was. His hand was braced on the roof. His shoulders were tense.</p><p>“Davey, the whole <em>fellas</em> thing.” His eyes were uncertain and his voice was strong. “Are you okay with this? Could you be?”</p><p>He… could he be?</p><p>David swallowed down the words that, while a little safer, still didn’t have a place outside of the boxes he locked them away in.</p><p>“I honestly can’t say I’ve thought about it much beyond the dangers…” he lied, “but as long as no one gets hurt and everyone’s being careful it’s not really my business whether it’s okay or not, is it?”</p><p>”But <em>are</em> you?” Crutchie pressed.</p><p>David pushed away visions of shadowy figures jumping out of the non-existent dark corners to catch him in even this confession and nodded.</p><p>He didn’t know what Crutchie saw in the action, but his shoulders relaxed to a slump. “Glad to hear. If it’s alright with you then, I can pass that along to some of the boys real quiet-like so they know you’re safe.”</p><p>“Oh.” He supposed he’d forgotten that part of it. “I didn’t mean to worry them.”</p><p>Crutchie shrugged. “It’s less about you specific and more about the situation, ya know?”</p><p>“That makes sense.” David thought through his next words carefully, before deciding on: “Please let them know, though, that wherever their affections lie I still care about them and that I’ll be there for them—not in spite of it but regardless of it. And maybe… maybe a bit more because of it. I don’t–” he cleared his throat “–I don’t imagine it’s easy.”</p><p>David figured that was alright because Crutchie had a small but warm smile. “Yeah, Davey. I’ll tell ‘em.”</p><p>With that he leaned back with a contented sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him.</p><p>“Enough of that heavy stuff, though,” he announced to the sky. “Tell me somethin’ ‘bout you.”</p><p>“What?” David asked.</p><p>“Tell me ‘bout yourself, Davey. I’s is curious.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I’m a prying bastard, I’ll admit it,” he said lightly. “I like knowin’ things. Bites me in the ass when they start complainin’ to me nonstop ‘bout their feelin’s and all that, but I like understandin’ where folks are comin’ from.”</p><p>“No, I mean, why do you want to know more about <em>me?</em>”</p><p>“’Cause I know shit-all about, ya, Davey.” Crutchie answered on a laugh. “We met in July and I just learned your last name for real. I <em>live</em> with all my other friends. I know more about them than I care to most of the time. It’s kinda weird that I know next to nothin’ about one’a my best ones.”</p><p>“…one of your best ones?” he clarified.</p><p>Crutchie looked at him blankly. Then he frowned, grabbed his crutch, and whacked David in the shin. “Geez, Davey, how do you choose what you pick up on? <em>Course</em> youse is one’a my best friends!”</p><p>“Oh,” he said. He cleared his throat. “What would you like to know?”</p><p>“Anything really. Um… you ever had a sweetheart yourself?”</p><p>David shook his head. “No.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>He smiled at the astonished tone. “That <em>surprises</em> you?”</p><p>Crutchie rolled his eyes. “Don’t gimme that crap. I mean, c’mon. Youse is a proper fancy school kid. A real nice one, at that, and those two don’t usually combine. And you ain’t bad lookin. Nowhere near really—not that I’m a good judge, but, hey, Hunter sure liked the look of you–”</p><p>“Are you still holding onto that?”</p><p>“Until you admit I’m right I sure as hell am. Whatever, though. You sure there ain’t even a shop girl makin’ eyes when you ain’t lookin’?”</p><p>David shrugged. “Not to my knowledge.”</p><p>“And you never carried a torch for nobody?”</p><p>Well…</p><p>With a few changed decisions and circumstances, David knew he would have fallen hard and fast for Rebecca Finley. He remembered perking up in shul at the waft of flowers and how his father would ruffle his hair and say <em>Oh, David, I hope you learn your mother’s gift for subtlety</em>. He remembered the flutter he felt in his stomach when she turned to smile at him in the morning, as he and Sarah turned the corner, and how her rosy cheeks would dimple. </p><p>When David saw Becca now, he looked away sharply. Even in those momentary glances, he could tell that she was still beautiful.</p><p>David did not think about Benny.</p><p>“A long time ago maybe… but I was young and didn’t really realize what those feelings might have been. I haven’t had a lot of opportunity to really get to know anyone outside of my classmates or family for a while, and I don’t see how I can start admiring someone until I admire their person as well as their appearance.” David confessed.</p><p>Crutchie shrugged. “That’s not a bad way to go about it."</p><p>David shrugged. “I suppose.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>Crutchie shoved him. It was not a light shove.</p><p>Righting himself, David clarified: “It’s really nothing. It’s just…most people have more of an issue with that. Well… my classmates do. Though I suppose they have an issue with most things about me.”</p><p>“I don’t think I like what youse is implyin’ there, Davey.”</p><p>“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “The women in shul—synagogue, I mean—they’re really ridiculous about it. I think they have a calendar marked with everyone’s birthdays so that they know exactly when to start harassing people about marriage and children.”</p><p>The other boy snorted loudly.</p><p>David smiled. “You think I’m kidding.”</p><p>“I don’t! I swear I don’t!” Crutchie said, and David had to strain to understand him through his laugher. “I’s just picturin’ you gettin’ pushed towards girls and you’re <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“What do you mean I’m <em>me?</em>” he responded with little heat.</p><p>“Davey, when youse is uncomfortable youse is either real damn polite or real damn awkward, there ain’t no in between and both make for a real funny picture. How many times have you complimented someone’s—shit, <em>diction</em> or somethin’?”</p><p>“Well now I’m a little worried you’ve been sneaking in through the back door for the Shabbat services.”</p><p>That’s enough to tip Crutchie into hysterics, and David followed soon after.</p><p>Recovering, David continued to say: “Ugh. No, you’re right. It must break my mother’s heart to know that the fate of the Jacobs name rests on Les’s shoulders.”</p><p>“Eh, you got time.” Crutchie said. “Ain’t much point worryin’ ‘bout it. It’ll happen or it won’t. Probably will, though, since youse is a good sort. When it does, though, let me know?”</p><p>“Why? So that you can make fun of me?”</p><p>“For sure.” Crutchie replied immediately. “I gotta make sure you don’t go getting too in your head about it like you usually do. But I’ve also been told I’m good at commiseratin’.”</p><p>“You are.” David agreed. “Hey, Crutchie? Thank you.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>He shrugged. “Being my friend?”</p><p>His friend smiled wide. “You don’t gotta thank me for that, Davey. And you don’t gotta thank me for talkin’ to ya either. I’m happy to do it.” Crutchie scoffed. “Honestly, you’re kind of a relief. I’ve had enough of <em>moanin'</em> and <em>pinin’</em> for a while.”</p><p>David grinned. “Oh <em>really</em>.”</p><p>“You’re not getting’ a word out of me, Davey. I ain’t no snitch.” Crutchie said. “Would ruin my reputation. I know everythin’ ‘round the lodgin’ house and I likes that power.”</p><p>David scoffed. “How people came to think you harmless is beyond me.”</p><p>“It’s the smile, Davey.” He gave a display of the winning grin. “Spreads like butter. Now, c’mon. I know you got a whole thing against gamblin’ and all but you gotta at least <em>tell me</em> how long you think it’s gonna take those two hooligans to sort things out.”</p><p>“Oh, fine. Um… late January.”</p><p>“Geez, maybe you <em>are</em> an optimist.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Распутица: September 25, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: None! Well, teen angst, I guess.</p>
<p>Translations in the endnote</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3>
<p><strong>Распутица</strong> <em>n.</em> poor road conditions in Fall and Spring; the two seasons of the year when travel on unpaved roads or across country becomes difficult due to muddy conditions from rain or melting snow [Russian, from <em>путь</em>-road + <em>рас</em>-dis, directly translates to <em>dis-road</em>]</p><h3></h3>
<p>
<strong>September 25, 1899</strong>
</p>
<p>“Race, do we <em>really</em> need to go through this again?”</p>
<p>“Y’know, I was about to ask ya the exact same question, Davey.”</p>
<p>David rolled his eyes. “Race, for the last time–”</p>
<p>“The answer’s no, Davey! What’s it gonna take to <em>convert</em> ya to the truth.”</p>
<p>David sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he’d regret this eventually. He just figured it would take more than a month for the regret to set in.</p>
<p>It was a lovely Autumn day, cool breeze, few clouds, and a crisp feeling in the air. They had yet to have a truly miserable day, though it was still early in the season, and David knew that cold snaps and rain falls and sleet and snow were inevitable and fast approaching. Nonetheless, he knew to enjoy these wonderful days while they had them.</p>
<p>The day had started off wonderfully, too, with the boys on their best behaviour in the distribution line, only throwing mild insults towards the Delancey brothers and taking their reciprocal remarks in a stride, both parties so genial that no one got threatened with brass knuckles.</p>
<p>Henry had told Sniper her new flannel looked soft and she’d managed to choke out a thank you without looking like she was going to murder him for saying so. Mush and Kid Blink had looked on like proud parents.</p>
<p>Specs had even found a hefty book—<em>David Copperfield</em>—lying on the side of the road on their way out of the yard and David had quickly agreed that he’d help define any words Specs needed but assured him he’d be able to understand the story by context and that it was significantly more fun to read it out loud in a terrible English accent.</p>
<p>Jack, David, and Les had managed to sell the morning edition quickly, and taken a good rest on the roof, Crutchie joining them on the way, before they returned to the distribution yard, where, once again, people were on their best behaviour and no one made threats.</p>
<p>About halfway through their afternoon sales, Katherine had stopped by. David had taken the rest of Jack’s papers and shoved him towards her—Jack had mentioned earlier that Katherine and him had wanted to spend some time alone. David hadn’t really wanted to sell the rest himself, mostly because he knew he probably couldn’t. It had worked out, though, as Race came by soon after and helped him sell the last few before they started on their weekly Italian lesson.</p>
<p>Les had decided to sell with Crutchie for the evening edition, in part because he knew they’d make a killing, in part because Les had very little patience for listening to Race and David’s Italian lessons.</p>
<p>David had once tried to argue that Les should consider staying around so that he could learn some too. Les had given him a look that clearly said <em>you’re an idiot and I shouldn’t have to explain why</em>—a look David was reasonably sure he’d learned from Sarah. Les thus went off with one of the others as soon as Race came by. David didn’t agree with the decision but let it be.</p>
<p>Though, considering their current conversation, Les might have had the right idea.</p>
<p>"Race, I need to know the proper grammar.”</p>
<p>“Youse is only gonna be talkin’ with me—<em>maybe</em> some’a the Brooklyn boys—and my grammar is shit!”</p>
<p>“There will be other people eventually. And, ideally, I will be able to talk to them. Or… read and write.”</p>
<p>“Who the fuck said anythin’ ‘bout <em>readin’</em> and <em>writing?</em> I didn’t agree to that.”</p>
<p>“That’s a fundamental part of teaching a language!”</p>
<p>“Nope. Not buyin’ it. They don’t teach you to read <em>and</em> speak <em>and</em> write <em>Latin</em>.”</p>
<p>“They absolutely do.”</p>
<p>“It’s a dead language!”</p>
<p>“It has other applications!”</p>
<p>“Like <em>what?</em>”</p>
<p>“I have no idea, but I actually like Mrs. Aldridge so I am willing to take her word for it.”</p>
<p>“Ugh. Fine! But when we start doin’ that I get two words a day. No, wait. <em>Five</em>.”</p>
<p>David was about to argue, but he caught sight of a welcome and unexpected visitor.</p>
<p>“Hello Katherine, I thought you and Jack were–”</p>
<p>“Jack and I ended it”</p>
<p>David lost all the air in his lungs.</p>
<p>She was a few feet from them, stopping just out of arm's reach. She was dressed for work, in a finely-made jacket and dress, the plum colour standing out against the passing crowds of black and grey. Her hair was up, hat placed perfectly atop it, not a single strand out of place. She lifted her hand and did the motion to tuck a loose lock behind her ear. Her eyes were red rimmed and her face was pale.</p>
<p>“Katherine?” Race asked, voice small.</p>
<p>“It was a mutual decision,” she said quickly. “We just… we haven’t gotten to spend much time together with my work picking up and you all so busy with the union and selling and… and my family started making demands neither of us are ready for <em>separately</em> much less <em>together</em> and–” she sucked in a trembling breath “–and we were talking about all this and we were talking about, you know, getting married and whether we could support ourselves if my parents disowned me or if he lost his cartooning job because of this and I just… I just started imagining what it would be like if everything went <em>right</em> and my father miraculously approved and my writing took off and Jack got a promotion and we were happy and secure… and I didn’t want it.”</p>
<p>She trailed off, voice lost and eyes wandering everywhere except in their direction.</p>
<p>“I just... I like Jack. I like Jack a lot. But I didn’t want it. I don’t want that. So I looked over… and I think he saw it too? Maybe. Maybe he just saw me realize it. But he just looked at me and said… ‘We’re done, aren’t we, Ace?’ And I said yes. So– so it was a mutual decision.”</p>
<p>Katherine looked to them just as a tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re both smart,” she said desperately. “If it was mutual why does it still hurt so much?”</p>
<p><em>Shit</em>, David thought.</p>
<p>“Shit,” Race said.</p>
<p>She scowled and ducked her head, her lip trembling. “Sorry. I don’t– I didn’t want to come over and… I don’t know. I know this is really stupid and that it was my choice and it’s fine, and we can… hopefully we can still be friends, but I just didn’t– everyone else is going to–” Her tears were pouring now. She ducked her head and, in a strangled voice, confessed: “I just didn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’.”</p>
<p>And with that Katherine Pulitzer, one of the strongest women he had ever met, fractured into sobs.</p>
<p>“Um,” Race said.</p>
<p>David looked up at the other boy. He was looking at Katherine like he’d never seen her before.</p>
<p>Race turned to David and mouthed, <em>what do we do?</em></p>
<p>David looked at him blankly.  As if <em>he</em> knew what to do in this situation. How was he supposed to know what to do in this situation? It wasn’t like his school taught him how to comfort a crying heiress. <em>That</em> was <em>nowhere</em> in the curriculum.</p>
<p>Then he suddenly remembered: <em>Oh, right, Sarah.</em> He did know what to do here.</p>
<p>David pulled Katherine into his arms, shushing her quietly. She grabbed him tight, burying her face into his chest.</p>
<p>Race’s eyes bugged out of his head.</p>
<p>“What are you <em>doing?</em>” he hissed.</p>
<p>“Comforting her,” David hissed back.</p>
<p>Race moved as though to block out the entire street with his skinny body. “You can’t <em>do that</em>, Davey.”</p>
<p>David looked down at Katherine, desperately trying to control herself but instead only sobbing harder.</p>
<p>He looked to the side. “Alley.”</p>
<p>Race’s eyes were going to pop out if they went any wider. “Davey, don’t you know what that <em>looks like?</em>”</p>
<p>“Yes, and I don’t need you to <em>remind me</em>,” He shot back. “But at least it looks better than us trying to comfort her <em>in the middle of the street.</em>”</p>
<p>Before Race could reply, David released Katherine from the embrace, grabbed her arm, pulled her around the corner and into the alleyway, and then pulled her back against him.</p>
<p>He heard Race swearing rapidly in Italian and let himself take a moment to be proud that he recognized every word he wished Race wasn’t saying. Then he saw Race come around the corner out of the corner of his eye and settled back against the brick wall.</p>
<p>Katherine’s shoulders were still shaking, but her sobs had died down to sniffles and stuttered breaths.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she said.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” David assured her.</p>
<p>“I’m making your shirt all… all disgusting.”</p>
<p>“My shirt was already disgusting,” he promised. “<em>I’m</em> sorry I pressed your face against it. I’ve been selling all day; I don’t imagine it’s a pleasant experience.”</p>
<p>She laughed at that, a little choked up but sounding better at least. She sniffled and pulled away.</p>
<p>Race’s voice perked up from beside them: “You okay, Kathy?”</p>
<p>David looked over along with Katherine. Race was leaning against the wall, fiddling with his cigar, rolling it between his fingers with speed and little attention to the motion. He was looking somewhere over Katherine’s shoulder as though looking at her face would be an offence.</p>
<p>Katherine sniffled. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry for… <em>God</em>, falling apart like an <em>idiot</em>.”</p>
<p>“Eh,” Race said, nonchalant tone completely at odds with his tense shrug. “It’s fine. Girls cry.”</p>
<p>David closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.</p>
<p>“’Sides,” Race said quickly, “you’re not blubberin’ near as much as other girls do! I mean– uh–”</p>
<p>Katherine’s lip was trembling again but David was sure it did so for a different reason.</p>
<p>David took in a deep breath: “Hey Race?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Davey?” His voice was very high.</p>
<p>“How about you shut up now?”</p>
<p>“With pleasure.”</p>
<p>Katherine did laugh at that. It was enough of a return to normality that Race actually looked at her and smiled. He looked down the alley immediately after, though, as if to make sure no one would pop out and condemn him for even that level of impropriety.</p>
<p>David took pity on him. “Race could you please go see if Les is done selling and bring him back here if or when he is done?”</p>
<p>Race slumped with relief. “Sure thing. Absolutely. Can do.”</p>
<p>He stood up from leaning against the wall and went to leave. He paused though, looked back, grimaced to himself, and then stepped forward, pulled Katherine into a hug and released her quickly.</p>
<p>With a stiff pat on her head he assured her, “You’re a real swell gal, Katherine.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Race.” She said thickly.</p>
<p>He nodded, once again unable to meet her eyes, and booked it out of the alleyway.</p>
<p>“Oh my god,” she whispered, “he was so awkward.”</p>
<p>“Is that your professional opinion, Miss Plumber?”</p>
<p>She giggled. “Sure, <em>Mr. Jacobs.</em> That is my <em>professional opinion.</em>”</p>
<p>“On the record?”</p>
<p>She sniffled. “On the record.”</p>
<p>David fished around in his pocket before he found what he was looking for. He handed over his handkerchief.</p>
<p>Katherine grinned. “You know, I only just got out of a relationship and I already have a nice young man pulling me into alleyways and giving me his handkerchief. A girl could get ideas.”</p>
<p>“I–” As she laughed at him, he once again cursed his pale complexion and how damn quickly he always seemed to colour “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” she said. She wiped at her nose. “Thank you, though.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he said. “Are you feeling better? Do you think you can head home now?”</p>
<p>She smiled and nodded, but her lip trembled again.</p>
<p>Well that was clearly a no, but why wouldn’t she…</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p>
<p>“Hey, Katherine?” She looked at him; her eyes were rimmed red. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’?”
</p>
<p>“Oh. That.” She picked at the lace that edged his handkerchief. “I just… my family and my friends—hell, even some of the guys in the paper—they all… everyone told me Jack and I could never work out. And, you know, I told them off or told them to stay out of my business… but I just.” She blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes. In a very quiet and very sad voice she confessed: “I know people are going to ask and I will have to tell them that they were right. And… when I go home my family will be able to tell that I’m upset. They might say they’re sorry it happened and they might try to comfort me—my sisters will, at least, if they’re home. But I also know they’re going to point out how they told me it would happen. I don’t even want to <em>think</em> about what my father will say. So I guess I’m just…” she wiped at her eyes harshly. “I’m not really looking forward to hearing all that.”</p>
<p>David’s heart broke at the sight of her.</p>
<p>They all knew Katherine wasn’t… <em>happy</em> at home. They all knew they couldn’t really do anything about it either.</p>
<p>But… David could do something about it now.</p>
<p>Oh, Mama was going to <em>kill</em> him.</p>
<p>“Do you want to come for tea?” he asked before he could change his mind.</p>
<p>Katherine looked up sharply. “What?”</p>
<p>He shrugged to hide the fact that his heart was going at twice it’s usual speed at the prospect he was offering. “Come home with Les and Sarah and me. You can talk to Sarah and my mother. Neither of them will say ‘I told you so’ because neither of them told you anything.”</p>
<p>Her eyes were flooding again. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Of course, Katherine. You’re my friend.”</p>
<p>She gasped sharply and looked away. “You’re my friend too, Davey,” she said tearily.</p>
<p>“Why does that–?”</p>
<p>“I guess I was just… I didn’t know if…”</p>
<p>It hit David immediately. “You were worried that because you and Jack weren’t together anymore that we wouldn’t want to be your friends.”</p>
<p>She nodded, shoulders hunching in even further.</p>
<p>He grabbed her arm and gently turned her to look at him. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.</p>
<p>“Katherine, you are one of the smartest people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he said firmly, “but that is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard.”</p>
<p>He watched as the words sank into her mind.</p>
<p>Her smile was blinding. “Thank you, Davey.”</p>
<p>“Anytime. And you don’t have to worry about the boys. Hell, I doubt you’ll even have to worry about Jack. He’s crazy about you. I don’t think that’ll stop just because you won’t be kissing him anymore.”</p>
<p>Her smile turned a little sad, but she still nodded at the affirmation.</p>
<p>Maybe that one was a little too soon.</p>
<p>“So, would you like to come home with us?”</p>
<p>She took a slightly shaky breath and stood up from her lean against the wall. “Yes.”</p>
<p>David stood too, offering his elbow. Huffing a laugh at his formality, she took it, wiped at her eyes one more time, and they walked back out to the street.</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>In a remarkable feat of timing, Race and Les ran across the street just as Sarah walked around the corner.</p>
<p>David was just grateful he’d only have to do this once.</p>
<p>Sarah got to them first. “Hello you two. To what do we owe the pleasure, Katherine?”</p>
<p>“Less than pleasant circumstances, I’m afraid,” David said.</p>
<p>“What’s Katherine doing here?” Les asked as he approached, already reaching into his pocket for his earnings.</p>
<p>“Katherine’s going to come home with us for tea.” David said.</p>
<p>Sarah’s eyes went wide. “She <em>is?</em>”</p>
<p>David added Les’s coins to his pile and quickly split it. He passed Jack’s share off to Race.</p>
<p>“Get this to Jack?”</p>
<p>Les looked around. “Where <em>is</em> Jack?”</p>
<p>Katherine looked down and away.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I gotcha,” Race answered easily, flicking a nervous glance to Katherine. “See you both tomorrow, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” David said firmly. “We will <em>both</em> see you tomorrow.”</p>
<p>He clapped David on the shoulder with a nod. He then stepped back, swept off his hat and took a deep bow, saying “Good day, ladies” with the motion, before he turned and ran off.</p>
<p>Sarah quirked a brow at the theatrics.</p>
<p>“David?” his brother whispered as he tugged on his vest. “Where’s Jack? And what’s wrong with Katherine?”</p>
<p>David thought for a second, and landed on saying: “Katherine and Jack decided it was better if they started just being friends. They’re both okay with it but it is still kind of sad.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Les nodded and turned to Katherine. “Jack’s a cad. He doesn’t deserve you.”</p>
<p>Sarah turned on him <em>immediately</em>. “LESHAM MORDCHE JACOBS, <em>WHAT</em> DID YOU JUST SAY?”</p>
<p>“That’s what you say!” Les defended.</p>
<p>David was <em>not</em> going to laugh. “Where did you hear <em>that?</em>”</p>
<p>“Ada,” Les answered in a condescending tone David <em>knew</em> he’d learned from him. “She said that’s what you say when a girl is crying over a boy.”</p>
<p>Katherine giggled. “Do you even know what that means?”</p>
<p>“Nah, I just know it works.” Les said. He tilted his head, pondering something, before he wrapped his arms around her waist. “This works too.”</p>
<p>Katherine hugged him back, blinking very quickly. “It does.”</p>
<p>“So… we’re taking you home with us?” Sarah asked Katherine while looking at David.</p>
<p>“We are,” David answered.</p>
<p>Sarah widened her eyes.</p>
<p>David widened his back.</p>
<p>She pursed her lips slightly before turning to give Katherine a smile, “Well, you have said you wanted to meet our parents.”</p>
<p>“Everyone wants to meet your parents!” Katherine defended.</p>
<p>Les scrunched his face. “Weird.”</p>
<p>Sarah did too. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Les, here, that’s still just… an odd concept.”</p>
<p>Katherine flushed a little and shrugged. “You speak well of them.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” David interrupted. “We better get going; we don’t want to be late.”</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>Now that he was almost seventeen, David figured that the people of Lower Manhattan—specifically the folks in his neighbourhood and those adjacent to it—had seen him walk home in a wide enough variety of states that they wouldn’t really be surprised to see him riding a penny-farthing with a chicken on his head.He suspected that such a thing wouldn’t be out of their imaginations.</p>
<p>But him walking home with an heiress sure seemed to be.</p>
<p>“Why are people <em>staring?</em>” Les asked around the fifth time someone did a double-take at the group.</p>
<p>“Well…” David was happy Sarah had taken the initiative to answer the awkward question, but wished she’d done so after she’d actually come up with what to say. “Because Katherine’s very pretty.”</p>
<p>Katherine went very red.</p>
<p>Les shrugged. “They’ve never looked at <em>you</em> weird when we walk home and Eddie says you’re the prettiest girl in the world.”</p>
<p>“Does he now?” Sarah asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but he’s Eddie.”</p>
<p>David sighed. Les always said Eddie’s name like it was a condemnation of his character. He had yet to figure out what Les was condemning him for, but he certainly did so with a lot of passion and disdain.</p>
<p>Sarah pulled David out of the way of an oncoming couple. The couple looked at the four of them and immediately bent their heads together, whispering.</p>
<p>Katherine went even redder and looked down at the ground.</p>
<p>“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Sarah huffed.</p>
<p>She grabbed their arms and yanked them over to the side alley, stopping right at the corner.</p>
<p>“Stares or gossip?” she asked Katherine.</p>
<p>Katherine laughed bitterly. “There’s always gossip. There’s no stopping that.”</p>
<p>Sarah grimaced. “No, I suppose there isn’t. Well, in that case, this way.”</p>
<p>And with that she ducked in between the buildings.</p>
<p>David looked around, careful not to trip on the old bricks and other detritus that littered the passage.</p>
<p>“Why is this familiar?”</p>
<p>“Remember that time we went to the park and got hit by the storm?” Sarah called back.</p>
<p>“Yes,” David answered.</p>
<p>“No,” Les answered.</p>
<p>“You were very little,” Sarah assured him. “Although… I don’t suppose you remember the story about David falling out of the tree?”</p>
<p>Katherine turned to him; worry etched into her features. “You fell out of a tree?”</p>
<p>“Angry pigeon!” Les crowed.</p>
<p>David felt his face go hot. “You didn’t need to bring that up again.”</p>
<p>“Technically you brought it up.”</p>
<p>“I did <em>not!</em>”</p>
<p>Katherine laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the tight space.</p>
<p>Sarah shot him a victorious smile. “Go on, David. Tell her the pigeon story.”</p>
<p>“Well,” David said, “when we were seven, <em>Sarah</em> thought it would be a good idea to try and lure a pigeon into our parent’s bedroom to keep as a pet–”</p>
<p>“Not <em>that</em> one!”</p>
<p>They continued like that the whole way, a series of sharp lefts and rights David didn’t have the head for but that was eternally grateful and absolutely baffled that Sarah had somehow managed to remember. As the alleyways spit them out onto the street, Sarah grabbed Katherine’s hand and pulled her across, as fast as they could, in a fun but probably ineffective attempt to avoid notice. David grabbed Les’s shoulder and led him across the street at a more reasonable pace.</p>
<p>David led them all up the stairs, once again offering his arm to Katherine, though this time it was offered out of practicality. She clung tight as she stumbled on the uneven steps, not letting go until they reached their front door.</p>
<p>After he and his siblings had pressed their fingers to the mezuzah, he turned to Katherine.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he said quickly. “clean off your shoes now but don’t take them off when you go in—we know where the loose nails are, you don’t. If you lie to flatter my parents they will know. Do not ask me how but they will. And they don’t speak English very well so don’t talk too quickly and don’t use contractions and try not to speak in complex sentences or use uncommon words, but try and do so without being too obvious about it. If my mother tries to feed you don’t say no. Don’t talk too loudly, either, because Mr. Nowak’s had to work for three days straight without rest and Mrs. Nowak will <em>skin</em> anyone who wakes him.”</p>
<p>“David, you’re scaring her,” Sarah said. “It’s fine, don’t listen to him. Well… don’t listen to his <em>tone</em>. His advice is good.”</p>
<p>“Um,” Katherine said, fear in her eyes as she wiped off her shoes.</p>
<p>“Right,” David said, half to himself. “Right. Okay.”</p>
<p>He knocked on the door.</p>
<p>He immediately turned, remembering: “Oh, and <em>don’t</em> call me Davey.”</p>
<p>“What do you–?”</p>
<p>Their mother opened the door. “David?”</p>
<p>“Hello Mama,” he said, kissing her cheek as he always did to greet her in the evenings.</p>
<p>She did not reciprocate with her usual smile, though. Instead she just looked at him, confused at his English. Her confusion only grew as she took in the unexpectedly large number of people at their door.</p>
<p>“Mama, this is Katherine Plumber,” he introduced, as if using her pen name would hide the fact that her outfit clearly cost more than their rent. “Katherine, this is my mother, Esther Jacobs.”</p>
<p>Katherine gave a slight nod, hands clasped in front of her. “Hello, Mrs. Jacobs.”</p>
<p>“Hello,” his mother replied in heavily accented English. “Come in.”</p>
<p>David waited for them all to enter, smiling and shaking his head at Katherine’s curious look and mouthed <em>should I?</em> towards the mezuzah.</p>
<p>As he followed after them, his mother caught him by the arm.</p>
<p>“A <em>guest,</em> David?” she hissed in Russian</p>
<p>He grimaced and replied in the same volume and language: “It was last minute?”</p>
<p>Her eyes narrowed. He was suddenly reminded of every time she had caught them playing pirates with her jewelry, or discovered him grabbing a spoon with the intention of sneaking into the honey jar, and seeing her look down at him, unimpressed, as he tried to peek through his lashes to see if she’d left their bedside so that he could try and read by moonlight.</p>
<p>“We will talk later.”</p>
<p><em>Oh boy.</em> “Yes, Mama.”</p>
<p>She sighed and turned to where Katherine was standing awkwardly in the centre of their small tenement. David didn’t even want to think what room in her mansion their living space was roughly equivalent to.</p>
<p>“Thank you for… having me. You have a lovely home,” Katherine said, a touch too loud, gesturing stiffly. “I– it is very clean. And… oh; your lacework is <em>very</em> nice.”</p>
<p>David winced along with her at how she sounded.</p>
<p>His mother simply smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Katherine’s lip wobbled. She nodded back and looked down.</p>
<p>His mother’s eyes sharpened at all three actions. “What is wrong?”</p>
<p>“Um…Katherine and Jack were… together.” David tried to explain, choosing the simplest way to say it so that he could continue speaking English. “Now they are not.”</p>
<p>Comprehension and sympathy dawned in his mother’s eyes. “Heartbreak.”</p>
<p>Katherine choked out a sob and pressed her hand against her mouth.</p>
<p>Every ounce of reserve melted off of his mother’s face. “It is fine. Come. David, make tea.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mama.”</p>
<p>“And… oh, miód na chlebie. Pięć kromek chleba.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mama.”</p>
<p>“Sarah, sit and… ah, what is word… say in English when I cannot?”</p>
<p>“Translate,” Sarah said, pulling out the chair for Katherine.</p>
<p>“Yes. Now, miód na chlebie.”</p>
<p>“Toast and honey,” Sarah said to Katherine as she sat beside her.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Esther sat down across from Katherine. “Sugar helps broken hearts.”</p>
<p>“How do you know that, Mama?” Sarah asked coyly.</p>
<p>“I was lucky with love. Friends… not so,” she said. “And I work in factory long time, Sarah. Zapamiętaj?”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t remind me, Mama,” Sarah groaned, looking at Katherine with a grimace. “Every day someone comes in talking about how Charlie looked at Elena or Peter was seen talking with Mary and someone starts crying and it turns into this whole fuss and no one gets to enjoy the lunch break.”</p>
<p>“Some days I miss girls,” his mother said thoughtfully. “I do not miss that.”</p>
<p>Katherine choked out a watery laugh.</p>
<p>David smiled to himself as he poured the water into the teapot and watched the leaves swirl. He set to making the toast, listening as Sarah and his mother steadily drew the full story of her and Jack’s relationship from Katherine with gentle questions and comforting openness and pretending not to notice Katherine’s furtive looks towards him whenever she said anything even remotely uncomplimentary about Jack. He grabbed the honey jar and, thinking for a moment, also added the apple jelly to the tray.</p>
<p>He brought the tray over and set in on the table between them.</p>
<p>His mother looked down at the selection and nodded approvingly. “Sarah, explain.”</p>
<p>Sarah pointed between the two jars. “Apple jelly or honey?”</p>
<p>“Jelly, please?”</p>
<p>“Good choice. Coming up,” Sarah said, grabbing two pieces of toast.</p>
<p>His mother spread the remaining three slices with honey. She set them back on the plate and poured tea into the six mugs, adding the exact proportions of milk and honey into five of them for the family’s preferences. She passed Katherine her mug, the honey, and the milk so that she could fix hers up for herself. His mother then set three of the mugs back on the tray beside the honey-spread slices of toast.</p>
<p>“Bring to father and Lesham, David,” she said, “then take yours and help Mrs. Hochman with her shelf.”</p>
<p>David had helped Mrs. Hochman with her slanting shelf a week ago.</p>
<p>“Yes, Mama,” he said, picking the tray up.</p>
<p>“Is that Les’s full name?” he heard Katherine ask as he opened the door to his parent’s bedroom. “It is <em>lovely.</em>”</p>
<p>David smiled to himself as he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.</p>
<p>“–so then Cr– <em>Charlie</em> told the man that he was actually bitten by a dog when he was little and the man started going on about proper animal control and, Tata, you should have <em>heard</em> the terrible ideas he– oh!”  Les paused his story and smiled at the sight of the tray, “Toast!”</p>
<p>Les jumped off the bed to move the stool back over to the bedside so that David could set the rare mid-afternoon treat down.</p>
<p>“Why is your mother speaking <em>English?</em>” His father said the language as though it was a disease.</p>
<p>“Our friend Katherine is here,” David explained. “She had a hard day and needed some comfort.”</p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>“Jack dropped her,” Les said through his mouthful.</p>
<p>“Finish chewing,” David and his father chorused.</p>
<p>“David,” his father chided.</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>Les huffed and swallowed. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Just remember next time, boychik,” his father said, ruffling Les’s hair. “Is this the same Jack you both speak of all the time? That does not sound like him.”</p>
<p>“They sort of dropped each other,” David explained. “Her parents are very controlling and judgemental and Jack… well, he didn’t make the best first impression. They’ve had a hard go of it already and I think they both decided that, while they like each other’s company, they were okay with sacrificing the romantic side of things to make sure they could stay friends instead of having their relationship soured by external pressures.”</p>
<p>His father looked a little startled. “That is… very well thought out.”</p>
<p>David shrugged. “I’m interpreting. I suspect they’ll realize all that soon enough. They’re half there already, but Katherine at least is still… she’s a little raw.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Heartbreak?”</p>
<p>David nodded.</p>
<p>His father grimaced. “I was never very good with heartbreak. That is why I work so hard to keep your mother happy.”</p>
<p>“That’s <em>brilliant</em>, Tata,” Les said.</p>
<p>“Thank you, boychik. I certainly think so. It will do you good to remember that for when you are all grown up and you must make sure Sally is happy.”</p>
<p>“<em>Tata</em>,” Les sighed, “Sally and I ended things <em>ages</em> ago.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you did?” he asked, despite having heard the story a million times. “Why?”</p>
<p>Les groaned “<em>Well</em>. It started when she told me she didn’t like peanut butter, which is just <em>wrong</em>, so I said–”</p>
<p>His father winked as Les continued on. David left them to it.</p>
<p>“Why would they say that?” his mother was saying as he re-entered the main space.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Katherine said on a sniffle. “Maybe it’s true?”</p>
<p>“Not true at all. They are wrong to say so,” she asserted.</p>
<p>“They’re <em>idiots</em>.” Sarah translated.</p>
<p>“<em>Sarah</em>.”</p>
<p>David stuck the slice of toast in his mouth, half to surreptitiously tuck a book under his arm on the way out the door, and half to stop himself from smiling too wide.</p>
<p>As he finished his bite, he called out: “I’m off to help the Hochman’s.”</p>
<p>“Take time. Do good job,” his mother replied.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve got this.</em>
</p>
<p>“Yes, Mama.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Thank you.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p>
<p>Miód na chlebie. Pięć kromek chleba: Toast and honey. Five slices of toast.<br/>Zapamiętaj: Remember</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chesid: Occtober 5, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So y’all wanted to know how Jack’s doing, huh? </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: implied/referenced antisemitism, past antisemitic violence, racism, and anti-immigrant sentiment</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Chesid</strong> <em>n.</em> a good deed or favor [Yiddish, חסד, from the Hebrew <em>Chesed</em>, חֶסֶד, Romanized <em>ḥesed</em>; <strong>Chesed</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1.</strong> the attribute of grace, benevolence, or compassion, including <strong>a.</strong> kindness or love between people, <strong>b.</strong> the devotional piety of people towards God and <strong>c.</strong> the love or mercy of God towards humanity; one of the ten sefirot of the Kabbalah; traditionally translated to English as "lovingkindness"]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>October 5, 1899</strong>
</p><p>“Really, the issue at hand isn’t just who gets to sell on the bridge, but rather how we as a Union plan to manage territory disputes.”</p><p>“Can’t we just keep it simple, though? I mean, geez, Dave, Spot’s already enough of a hassle. I don’t wanna go startin’ a whole debacle for a mile of turf.”</p><p>“According to you, this <em>mile of turf</em> has been one of the biggest points of conflict between Brooklyn and Manhattan since it was <em>built</em>.”</p><p>“Why ya gotta go rememberin’ what I say, Davey? Ya know I hate it when ya do that.”</p><p>“I do,” David reached over to poke the other boy on the arm. “And <em>you</em> know I hate it when you argue to avoid talking about what’s really bothering you. Come on: out with it. What’s going on?”</p><p>Jack sighed but finally relented. “I– look, Davey, we’s is only a week out from the next meetin’ with Brooklyn. And I…”</p><p>Jack shrugged one shoulder and looked out to the sky, frowning in that way that pulled his face tight together, jaw clenching, brows drawing in. David watched and waited as he sorted out his thoughts.</p><p>Jack sighed again; the sound softer but a little more lost. “I just… I still got no clue how to fix it. And I should have <em>somethin’</em> by now—y’know, we get mornin’ sales, they get nights, or… split it down the middle? But that’s shit. And now we’s is gonna have to go look Brooklyn in the eye and say ‘hey, we got nothin’”. And I just… I know I should'a worked harder to sort this out sooner. We had a <em>month.</em> But then things with Ace– with <em>Katherine,</em> and… and stuff, and I just–”</p><p>“Jack,” David cut in, in the firm and gentle tone he had on reserve to comfort. “A lot happened last month. You had to manage most of the Union affairs and the boys when I couldn’t sell—not to mention that you <em>insisted</em> I still take my share of earnings on those days–”</p><p>“We’s is partners, Dave. And don’t think I didn’t notice ya tried to sneak some back–”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. “And that’s not even <em>mentioning</em> all the work you did to make sure Mush, Henry, and the others could go without selling on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. <em>And</em> all the help you gave Kloppman.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that’s just–”</p><p>“There’s no <em>just</em> about it Jack. And as far as things with Katherine…”</p><p><em>Things with Katherine</em> was probably the best way to refer to it. It was still raw, ten days being almost no time to untangle the complicated web of emotions they each felt towards each other and separately after they severed ties.</p><p>Katherine had retreated some. She still stopped to say hello to those she saw selling on the street when she walked by, but no longer met them at Jacobi’s or snuck up the fire escape of the lodging house. David was fairly sure she was spending more time with Sarah, though, judging by the number of times Sarah had asked their mother to go to the library in the evenings and the looks his mother had given her as she granted permission.</p><p>Jack had soldiered on, broad smile, sad eyes, and a near-unrelenting resolve to work himself out of his pain.</p><p><em>Near-unrelenting</em> because he was surrounded by friends who refused to let him do so. He’d only really managed to get away with it for three days. Then, with Specs’s unexplained ability to figure out Jack’s selling spots, Race’s badgering, Mush’s upper-body strength, Crutchie’s well-placed whacks to the shin, and a whole troop positioned on nearby corners to block him from running, they’d cornered him. David had contributed to the cause with a stern enough glare to make Jack hand him the rest of his papers without argument and a firm command that he go commiserate with Crutchie.</p><p>Jack had come back with red-rimmed eyes that weren’t nearly as sad.</p><p>So <em>Things with Katherine</em> were improving, yes, but it had been hard to get to the point they were currently and they still had a ways to go and the path was rough.</p><p>“I know it ended on good terms, but it was still an end. And those are hard. No one blames you for needing time,” he paused and then rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Well… apparently <em>you</em> blame yourself, but you’re an idiot.”</p><p>Jack chuckled. “Alright, ya don’t gotta go insultin’ me, Dave.”</p><p>“You started it,” David said. “And you better cut it the hell out. Insulting a man on his birthday. For shame, Jack Kelly.”</p><p>“It ain’t–”</p><p>“Insulting a man three days before his birthday. Even worse.”</p><p>Jack smiled and shook his head, shoving David gently. “Shut up.”</p><p>David rocked to the side obligingly, then rocked back to bump his shoulder against Jack’s. The motion made the other boy huff a little laugh.</p><p>The quickly setting sun cast a warm light on everything, even though the evening air was quickly turning cold. David didn’t mind so much, the heat of the long summer still lingering in his bones, making every chill feel like a novelty. And it was beautiful. The light seemed to turn Jack’s skin to gold.</p><p>David let the moment sit in the air between them. He hoped it was as comfortable a silence for Jack as it was for him.</p><p>When he felt it right, he continued: “And, Jack?”</p><p>He waited for Jack to turn to face him.</p><p>“You seem to be forgetting that I also don’t have an answer yet. And I’m willing to bet Spot doesn’t either.”</p><p>Jack smiled slightly, closed mouth.</p><p>David thought hard for a moment before he elaborated: “There is no simple fix here. This is a complicated issue. That’s why I think we should bring this to the Union at large. Solving this dispute has implications for everyone, and if we are able to develop a process for coming to an agreement then we’ve set up something that the other borough leaders can use and that future borough leaders can use when these issues come up again.”</p><p>“Don’t think no one’s gonna go buildin’ more bridges for a while, Dave.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” he allowed, “but don’t you think it would have been helpful to have something to fall back on when there was that dispute between Harlem and the Bronx?”</p><p>“That was easy, though.”</p><p>“But what if it hadn’t just been a matter of disproving rumors? What if some Harlem newsies <em>had</em> been selling up there? Or if they’d been a block over?” David watched as the thoughts settled into Jack’s mind, watched as his eyes searched David’s expression for any trace of doubt. David pushed it deep down for him. “We don’t have a map, Jack, and we can’t make one without contributions from the other boroughs. If we keep having our territories be based on word of mouth, passed down and re-arranged without any record, we’re asking for trouble. This is bigger than a dispute over who can sell on a bridge. This is bigger than this moment.”</p><p>Once again, the silence settled between them, this time ringing with the words, heavy with contemplation.</p><p>Jack was the one to break it this time: “You think Spot’ll agree?”</p><p>David shrugged. “I’ll make him.”</p><p>Jack laughed loud, startled. “Youse is somethin’ special, Davey.”</p><p>David smiled and ducked his head as he felt his cheeks start to burn. “You just like the idea of me going after Spot Conlon.”</p><p>“It’s a funny thought!”</p><p>“I’ll try not to take offence to that. Alright,” he said, smothering a yawn and reaching into the bag he’d set aside as the conversation got too complicated to distract from, “do you want to give it another shot?”</p><p>Jack shifted over obligingly. “All’s fine on my end. <em>You</em> keep throwin’ to the left.”</p><p>“Shut up.” David scooted back and readied the peppermint. “Ready?”</p><p>Jack turned to face him, his body coiled in tense anticipation. “Yep.”</p><p>David lobbed it up in the air. Jack shifted, slightly to his left, before–</p><p>“<em>Shit!</em>”</p><p>The candy bounced off his cheek and fell, rolling across the roof and out of sight.</p><p>“Wasn’t to the left that time, huh?” David asked, grabbing another out of the bag and popping it in his mouth.</p><p>“Shut up,” Jack said with a laugh, reaching across David to grab one for himself.</p><p>David smiled with the mint lodged in his cheek.</p><p>Though the conversation was courtesy of their positions, the candy was a gift from the Kleins. They had run into the couple on their walk back from the October birthday celebration. David had sold Jack out as soon as he had the chance—a pre-emptive tactic to avoid Mr. Klein’s compliments and teasing, which always made David blush a violent red. His diversion worked like a charm, and Mr. Klein had turned his entire effusive force on Jack, man of the hour. Mrs. Klein, meanwhile, told them to wait in a tone they dared not argue against, went upstairs, and came back down with a small package of hard peppermints. She then shut down Jack’s attempts to refuse, pinched his cheeks, and sent them on their way. They’d bribed Les with a sizable share of the treats to leave them alone so that they could finish talking shop. Jack’s cheeks had still been pink when they climbed up to the roof, and David was certain it wasn’t because of how hard Mrs. Klein pinched them.</p><p>Since then they had alternated between serious conversations around territory disputes and managing the coming winter months and playing catch-the-candy. David still felt a little silly and a little wary doing it, but he’d pushed away childhood memories of Mr. Hochman’s warning him and Sarah about choking hazards at Jack’s urging. They had yet to have success and blamed one another for their failures while they steadfastly supported each other in their discussion of Union affairs.</p><p>“Hey, uh… that reminds me,” David looked over at the hesitancy in Jack’s voice. “There’s somethin’ else we need to talk about.”</p><p>“What is it?” he said around his candy.</p><p>“Turns out Southpaw’s been at it again.”</p><p>David grimaced. “I thought Hunter dealt with him.”</p><p>“She couldn’t go provin’ nothin’ so it was just a matter of talkin’ to him and the other ones. And … well, he ain’t gonna listen to her tryin’ to convince him to treat other folks decent if he can’t be bothered to treat her decent.”</p><p>“Alright.” David moved the sweet around his mouth, before finally settling it between his teeth and cheeks again. “So he’s been stirring up trouble with Harlem again?”</p><p>“Naw, he’s… he’s been tryin’ to convince folks that…” Jack crunched down on the last of his candy, making David wince out of empathy for his teeth. “He’s been tellin’ folks that we did shady dealin’.”</p><p>“But both Artie and Hunter were more than happy with how that all ended, and their seconds seemed <em>thrilled.</em>”</p><p>“It’s less about <em>that</em> deal and more about deals in general… shit, Dave, there’s no good way to say this.” Jack sighed again, though this time the sound was angry and harsh. “Davey, he’s been going after <em>us</em>. After <em>you</em>.”</p><p>David took a moment to think over all that Jack had said. All that Jack had <em>not</em> said. And all that Jack had avoided and talked around.</p><p>
  <em>Southpaw is a damn snake that’s gnawin’ at the bit to hit anyone he thinks below him.</em>
</p><p>“Oh.” David swallowed, and the peppermint tasted a little more bitter with the disappointment. “That makes sense”</p><p>“That all ya gotta say ‘bout it?”</p><p>“I mean, from everything you’ve told me about him I can’t see why <em>you</em> sound surprised,” David relented and crunched down on the candy. Around the shards he asked: “Is it because I’m Jewish, Polish, or is it a combination of the two?”</p><p>Jack stared at him blankly. “…Jewish.”</p><p>“Should’ve guessed,” David swallowed the last of the mint and set aside the bag. “It’s pretty stupid of him, though. I mean… a not insignificant number of newsies are Jewish.”</p><p>“Huh. Okay, he might also be goin’ after ya for bein’ Polish, too. Hell, he might be usin’ that as the connection ‘tween us.” He affected a high and nasally voice when he continued on to say “<em>Can’t trust thems two since they ain’t real Americans</em>,” then he dropped the voice and shook his head. “Some shit like that.”</p><p>“Is he going after Spot, too, then?”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“<em>Really?</em> But if he’s going after you for being Irish–”</p><p>“Far as I know he got no problem with me bein’ Irish.”</p><p>“Then why–?”</p><p>“Ma was from the south—Cuba then New Orleans.” Jack shrugged. “I used to keep real quiet ‘bout it, but enough folks know now that it probably ain’t that hard to find out. Plus, I mean, this ain’t just a <em>tan.</em>”</p><p>David thought the words—the reveal—through. “I don’t think <em>I</em> knew that.”</p><p>“Now ya do,” Jack said easily</p><p>For all the ease in his tone, though, David still felt a little unsteady with the new knowledge and the many whispers in the back of his mind asking why this was the first time Jack felt comfortable telling him.</p><p>Out loud, all he said was: “Alright.”</p><p>Jack must have heard his uncertainty, though, because he sent him a grin. “I’ll tell ya ‘bout it later just… it’s gettin’ late and we already talked ‘bout lots and… well, it’s a long story.”</p><p>“Alright,” David said.</p><p>Jack smirked. “That your favorite word or somethin’?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“<em>Alright.</em>” Jack mimicked, smirk blooming into a full grin.</p><p>“No,” David said, a little lost, “why would you think that?”</p><p>Jack barked a laugh. “Ya say it all the damn time!”</p><p>“I do <em>not.</em>”</p><p>“Do <em>to.</em>”</p><p>“I do– you know what, fine. Alright, so–”</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.” David felt the smile slip off his face as he sighed. “Is there anything we can do?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Watch our backs. Least we can be glad he’s an idiot whose got a rep for bein’ a snake and a liar.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David said.</p><p>Though he gave Jack a hard time for the same thing, David had to admit he was surprised and saddened. He felt stupid for it. Such attacks weren’t new to David. Far from it, really. If he thought hard enough he could recall the feeling of the rock that hit right beside his eye, the sting of the cut, and the fear as he realized <em>this wasn’t a game, they were trying to–</em></p><p>He’d grown used to it. Well, when he began attending Barnett he’d struggled, sure, but their hatred was at a level that he had rarely experienced outside those stone walls, where chalk dust and whispered slurs hung in the air. It took time but eventually he grew used to that as well. He hadn’t been tested since.</p><p>Or perhaps it was just that Barnett administered their onslaught against his person and his people with such accuracy that every other attack felt like a glancing blow.</p><p>He couldn’t discount, though, the effect of the past few months in encouraging him to lower his guard. The friendships he had formed with the others came with a thrill of safety.  He’d never felt more at home outside of his home. It was liberating. It made it easy to forget.</p><p>David supposed it was wishful thinking that the slow poison of hate and prejudice wouldn’t seep into this facet of his life as well, souring the taste of freedom he’d gotten since joining the newsies.</p><p>He would miss it. He would miss it so much it hurt already.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, right.</em>
</p><p>“So… while we’re on the topic of things we probably should have brought up sooner…”</p><p>Jack raised a brow. “Well that sounds right <em>foreboding,</em> there, Davey. Sure; let’s hear it.”</p><p>“I’m going back to school.”</p><p>Jack froze. “What?”</p><p>“I’m going back to school,” David repeated.</p><p>Jack continued to look at him blankly. Then he smiled. It was as wide a smile as David had ever seen on him—as bright as the one he got shouting their victory on the balcony of the World offices, and as warm as the light of the sun setting before them. So close, the sheer force of joy emanating off of him was blinding.</p><p>David smiled back. He couldn’t help it. You couldn’t look at Jack’s smile and not smile back. It was a physical impossibility.</p><p>“Oh my god. <em>Davey!</em>” David laughed as he was grabbed and shaked by the shoulders. “That’s great! Your Pops got a <em>job?</em> He’s– is his leg–?”</p><p>“He’s going to have a limp for a while, but the doctor was optimistic that it should clear up over time,” David assured him. “And it will probably hurt him some days and he’ll have to be careful to avoid sudden movements but– anyways. Mr. Klein–”</p><p>“Peppermint man,” Jack interrupted, reaching out for the bag of evidence for the newly administered nickname.</p><p>David snatched the bag up and moved it out of Jack’s reach. “Peppermint man, sure. Occupationally he’s actually a delivery cart driver for a grocer. Well, I say grocer; they’re basically a supplier now, since they’ve moved to selling primarily to businesses and restaurants– anyways. They’ve been needing someone to help keep track of deliveries and fill in for other positions when necessary, and, since they’ve been doing so well, they can afford to have someone do so. It pays less than his factory job but, you know,” David shrugged. “My father said he prefers it. It will be easier to get out of the way of oncoming carts than it would an oncoming truck.”</p><p>Jack snorted, startled. “Jesus <em>Christ</em>, Dave.”</p><p>“I didn’t say it!”</p><p>“Didn’t say much of nothin’, didja?” Jack pointed out. “Why not say somethin’ sooner?”</p><p>“We only found out a few days ago—my father didn’t want to say anything until everything was confirmed. And then…” he shrugged, “well, it was the birthday celebration and I didn’t want to draw any attention away from you all.”</p><p>Jack’s mouth went flat and unimpressed. “We can manage bein’ happy ‘bout more than one thing, Davey.”</p><p>“I know,” he said. “But I just… I had already missed the one in September–”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘cause ya got all busy helpin’ your Ma get stuff ready. Now we know to hold ‘em the hell outa the way of your holidays–”</p><p>“<em>Anyways,</em> it just seemed like something to bring up later.”</p><p>“Well, when’re ya goin’ back?”</p><p>David took a deep breath. “Monday.”</p><p>“Oh.” David didn’t need to look up to know Jack’s smile had fallen. “So…”</p><p>“I can’t make it to the Brooklyn meeting,” he confirmed. “I won’t be able to make it to any of the Brooklyn meetings.”</p><p>“Huh. Well that’s… well shit.”</p><p>David pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, letting his chin rest in the space between his knees.</p><p>He’d known this was coming. <em>When Dad goes back to work, we go back to school.</em> Their mantra. Their prayer. But at the same time… even though they had passed into October, it was finally starting to dawn on him that summer was well and truly over.</p><p>“What time’s your schoolin’ done”</p><p>David startled out of his thoughts. Jack was looking at him expectantly.</p><p>“Um…around four in the afternoon?”</p><p>Jack nodded, sharp, sure. “Four-thirty. I’ll get Spot to change to four-thirty.”</p><p>David shook his head as hope flared bright in his chest. “But he’s so attached to the time. Two Tuesdays in at two; it’s a tradition, right? And what about the evening edition–?”</p><p>“Davey, Me ‘n Spot had enough years tryin’ to deal with each other without you there. Trust me, he’ll figure out a way to have this work.”</p><p>The hope grew into a warm fire in his chest. “Okay. Okay, that works.”</p><p>“This why ya been fadin’ in and out all day?”</p><p>That drew David up short. “What?”</p><p>“All day, ya kept goin’ blank and stuff and gettin’ distracted.” Jack gestured vaguely to David’s person. “Ya do that when you go thinkin’ to hard.”</p><p>“I do?”</p><p>When David was a child his father used to hold his shoulder whenever they were walking together because David had a habit of getting so lost in his thoughts he wouldn’t realize when the rest of his family stopped or turned a corner. He knew he <em>used</em> to get lost in his head frequently. He just thought he’d outgrown such things, at least enough that it was unnoticable.</p><p>“Yep,” Jack confirmed, thus undermining David’s belief in his maturity. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day?”</p><p>“I suppose so.” David thought it over, and then decided to also confess: “I… I also haven’t been sleeping all that well.”</p><p>“Excited?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.</p><p>“Hey… youse is goin’ back to <em>school,</em> Davey.” Jack bumped his shoulder against his again. “Ain’t that what you wanted? I mean, ya been talkin’ ‘bout goin’ back since your first day.”</p><p>“Of course,” he said immediately. “I mean, yes. I wanted that and I am… I am excited. And– <em>God,</em> and Sarah is <em>thrilled.</em> But I… it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“It does if you’re like this. C’mon, Davey. Out with it.”</p><p>“It’s just…”</p><p>
  <em>It’s expensive and we’re already against the margin. There is no telling what will be asked of me this year, what may be demanded. My parents are so happy. My family is so happy that we can return to school. I can’t be. I don’t know how to be. There is so much to live up to and so much they and others expect of me and the costs to meet those expectations…</em>
</p><p>“It’s… it’s going to be a lot of work. To keep selling and go to school—we’ll have to run back home to change clothes before selling. And… there’s going to be so much to catch up on. And… and it’s <em>so</em> different, Jack. What if…” David shook his head sharply and wrapped his arms tighter around his legs. “it’s stupid.”</p><p>Jack’s elbow dug into his side. “Try me.”</p><p>In an embarrassingly quiet voice, David did: “What if I’ve forgotten everything?”</p><p>“Even if you did it’s nothin’ you can’t learn again,” Jack said immediately. “‘sides, you been teachin’ the boys all those words of yours <em>and</em> learnin’ a whole ‘nother language. Hell, ya probably learned more last month than ya would’ve in class. Ya definitely learned more this summer than any of those prissy rich kids did. Yeah, ya got work to catch up on but youse is smarter than any of those other boys. You’ll be back at the top in no time.”</p><p>It was… it was a much better answer than David was expecting.</p><p>He should have expected it, he supposed. Jack had a gift for saying what others needed to hear when they needed to hear it. And he had unwavering faith in those he deemed his friends and his family. He was remarkably stable for someone who spent so much of his life running, and he used that stability to support others. Though David didn’t like to rely on it, he always knew it was there.</p><p>For this reason, he chose not to tell Jack that what he was framing as success was actually David’s new requirement.</p><p>Jack slung an arm around his shoulder and shook him again. “Davey, you're gonna be <em>fine.</em> You’re David Jacobs. VP. The kid who yelled in old Joe Pulitzer’s face. Ain’t nothin’ that can touch ya. And, ‘sides, ya got us.”</p><p>David looked up, and, again, had to smile at the sight of Jack’s wide grin. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Course. What, you think that you was gonna be able to shake us just ‘cause you can’t sell mornin’s? Or ‘cause we gotta move a meeting or two? Naw. Your fancy school buddies will have to get used to sharin’ you.”</p><p>He felt his smile falter at that. Jack caught it immediately.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, I just… sorry, I was just thinking again.”</p><p>“Save that for Monday, why don'tcha?” Jack tried to joke. His face settled into something a little softer, and he asked: “What else, then?”</p><p>David sighed. “I guess I’m just worried it will be hard to get used to the environment again. It’s… it’s very different from selling all day. And from being with all of you. What if… I worked really hard to make sure I fit in where I could, and now I don’t know if I’ll be able to fit back into the space I’d made for myself.”</p><p>“It’ll be tough, sure, but it’s gonna feel normal again before ya know it. And you still got your fancy accent. We ain’t broken you of that yet.”</p><p>“I <em>knew</em> you were trying to– never mind. It’s also the whole…” <em>avoiding getting the shit kicked out of me and listening to peers and teachers talk in aggressive and bland tones about how much I shouldn’t be there,</em> David thought, but he was too tired to have to explain all that and, besides, he’d brought down the night enough. “Sitting quietly at my desk all day and paying attention and having to wear my… um, my…”</p><p>Oh no. Oh <em>shit.</em> He must have been more tired than he thought.</p><p>“What?” Jack asked worriedly.</p><p>David’s cheeks were heating rapidly. “Nothing, I just–”</p><p>“Something wrong?”</p><p>“Not really… it’s just–” <em>Fuck,</em> what <em>was</em> it?</p><p>“Spit it out, Dave, it can’t be that bad.”</p><p>“No, it’s not–” He sighed, and, swallowing his pride, admitted. “I’m tired and I don’t remember the word in English, okay?”</p><p>Jack squinted: “<em>You</em> don’t remember a word?”</p><p>“Go ahead and laugh.”</p><p>“I ain’t gonna laugh, Davey, I promise, I’s is just… okay. Okay, so if ya don’t remember it in English, that mean ya remember it in another one’a your ones?”</p><p>David sighed and covered his face with his hands. “Russian.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He shifted his hands so that they didn’t cover his mouth. “I remember it in Russian.”</p><p>“Go on then.”</p><p>David looked at Jack with the face he used quite frequently with Race and his brother to say <em>are you kidding me right now?</em></p><p>Jack just smiled in the face of it. “C’mon, I wanna hear it now.”</p><p>David sighed, and, clearly as he could, said: “обмундирование”</p><p>Jack nodded, considering. “I gotta be honest here, Dave, I was sort of hopin’ it would be one’a those words that sounds the same in both.”</p><p>“What words sound the same in Russian and <em>English?</em>”</p><p>“How the hell am I supposed to know? I don’t speak no Russian.” Jack dodged David’s swing before he settled back. “Try describin’ it.”</p><p>“It’s… the shirt and tie? And my jacket,” he tried. “The one they make me wear.”</p><p>He looked up. The corner of Jack’s smile was twitching that way it always did when he was trying not to laugh, his cheeks pushing up to his eyes, making fine lines appear at the corners.</p><p>“Davey. Might the word you’re lookin’ for be <em>uniform?</em>”</p><p>God <em>fucking</em> damn it, it was. “Oh for–”</p><p>Jack’s laughter echoed across the rooftops.</p><p>David covered his face with his hands again. “Shut up!”</p><p>“Davey!” Jack said between his cackles, “You <em>know</em> words! That’s your– your whole–”</p><p>“Schitck?”</p><p>“<em>See!</em>”</p><p>“Shut up!” he said again, even whinier. “Technically I knew it!”</p><p>“In <em>Russian.</em>”</p><p>“Shut <em>up!</em>”</p><p>“Wait… is this–” Jack wiped the tears from his eyes, “is this what Les’s been tellin’ me ‘bout? You not knowin’ what words go where?”</p><p>“When has he been–?”</p><p>“Davey,” Jack said sternly, in strong opposition to the blushing glow of mirth still colouring his face, “you don’t wanna know what your brother’s told me.”</p><p>David mulled that over. Then he sighed.</p><p>“He told you the pigeon story, didn’t he?”</p><p>“A few days ago.”</p><p>“I’m gonna kill him.”</p><p>Jack laughed again and pulled David down from his play at rising to go enact his vengeance. “Dave, I named a pigeon in a tree after you. Really, who could resist that openin’?”</p><p>“Why the <em>hell</em> were you naming a pigeon after me?” David demanded.</p><p>“There was a whole lotta pigeons underneath it fightin’ over a hot dog and it looked like it was thinkin’ ‘look at those idiots’ and that was the day that Race and Albert tried to throw JoJo out the window so’s that they could use that real fancy word you told Race ‘bout–”</p><p>“I managed to forget about that, Jack. I don’t appreciate you reminding me.”</p><p>“If I hafta remember JoJo’s screamin’ so do you. Anyways, so that pigeon was lookin’ down on all these other pigeons all judgemental and I remembered how you looked at thems when we was goin’ back to check what was takin’ them so long to meet us at the gates and just thought ‘Hey, don’t that pigeon look like your brother?’ only I didn’t think it, so your brother tells me the whole pigeon story, then I tell him how I didn’t actually mean to say that and then your brother started tellin’ me how you do the same thing when you’re sick and tired and all the ways to go loopy.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “I’m sick and tired of this conversation.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know that, Dave. Y’know how I know that?”</p><p>“Don’t–”</p><p>“Ya forgot the word <em>uniform.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off.”</p><p>Jack cackled even louder and David couldn’t help but laugh along.</p><p>“I just–” Jack said once they’d controlled themselves once more. “I just can’t believe ya forgot <em>uniform.</em> I mean—of all the stupid long words you pull outa your ass every day and <em>uniform</em> is what trips ya up.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” David said.</p><p>“I just did, Davey.”</p><p>“I know you did, and I didn’t appreciate it,” David said. “Where’s that famous Jack Kelly sympathy?”</p><p>Jack shook his head. “Davey, I’s is famous for many things but I don’t think <em>sympathy</em> was somethin’ I was ever known for. Where’d ya even hear that?”</p><p>“I didn’t hear it anywhere, but if you were nicer to me, I’d do my best to spread that around to the others. I think it could gain traction.”</p><p>“How do ya remember a word like <em>traction</em> but not–”</p><p>“Shut up,” David said, grinning when Jack cackled and dodged his swing. “You’re so <em>mean</em> to me. I thought we were friends.”</p><p>Jack put his hand over his heart. “Youse is my <em>best friend</em>, Dave. That means I get to tease you.”</p><p>“Don’t let Crutchie hear you say that,” David warned.</p><p>“Crutchie knows well as I do that you can have lots of best friends and <em>you</em> oughta know that youse is stuck with both of us now. Hell, youse is stuck with all of us now.”</p><p>“And that means unrepentant teasing? Don’t–” David held up his hand at Jack’s look of glee. “Don’t even say it.”</p><p>“Say what?”</p><p>“Damn right.”</p><p>Jack laughed and slung his arm around David’s shoulders.</p><p>“Hey, reminds me, I learned a neat word the other day too. Wanna hear it?” Jack asked.</p><p>“Is it actually a neat word, or is it just gonna be you teasing me again?” David checked.</p><p>“No, for real,” he said. He leaned over and pointed out at the clouds. “See how those clouds are all hazy, down over the bridge? I was paintin’ clouds like that for Medda and one’a her investors came by and started goin’ on all ‘bout how they’s was <em>diaphanous.</em>”</p><p>“Oh that <em>is</em> a nice one,” David said. “Well… it sounds nice. I don’t think I’ve heard it before. What’s it mean?”</p><p>“It’s like light and stuff. When you can see through stuff and it’s all hazy.”</p><p>“Like those clouds.”</p><p>Jack snapped his fingers and pointed at David with a smile. “Like those clouds.”</p><p>“Alright, for that, I will forgive you for being mean.”</p><p>“<em>Alright.</em>”</p><p>“I take it back. Live with my displeasure.”</p><p>Jack snorted. He dropped his arm from David's shoulders and leaned back on it, other resting on his knee, looking back out at the sky, eyes distant.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, “how ‘bout the first week or so we make you have an easy time? Don’t go changin’ after. Just come straight over. Les don’t wear no uniform, right?”</p><p>David shook his head. “No. I mean… he wears his school coat, but besides that it’s basically what he wore on our first week selling.”</p><p>“And we know he can work with that.” Jack said with a grin. “Right. Come straight over—hell, bring Sarah. Some’ve the guys can tell Katherine to come so they can chat. And just leave the sellin’ to Les and me for the first week or so-”</p><p>David cut in: “That’s not fair to you.”</p><p>“Davey, ya covered for me when I talked to Kathy without even a peep of fussin’, remember? And you <em>made</em> me to let ya cover when I was talkin’ to Crutchie. This is just as important—hell, it’s <em>more</em> important. We all know how important school is to you and your folks.”</p><p>David sighed. “I’m not sure…”</p><p>“Why not? Gimme Les then set up in the penthouse or we’ll get Kloppman to loan us an office. Do your work while we’s is out. When we’s is done, we’ll meet ya, you chop the cash in half, then we make sure to getcha outta your head for a bit.”</p><p>David was sure for the rest of his life he would be wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such a friend as Jack Kelly.</p><p>“Really? You’d… you’d be okay with that? You’d do all that for me?”</p><p>“Course, Dave,” Jack said, ruffling David’s hair. “What? Didja think youse was gonna be able to shake us now? I ain’t goin’ back to herdin’ the boys on my own.”</p><p>“You’re not on your own, Jack.”</p><p>Jack raised a brow. “No?”</p><p>“You have Race.”</p><p>Jack’s brow dropped low as he frowned. “Very funny Davey.”</p><p>“I know,” he said. “And, anyways, don’t forget Crutchie. Crutchie would help you.”</p><p>Jack snorted. “Crutchie helps when Crutchie <em>wants</em> to help, and that only sometimes happens when I needs it. I love the kid to pieces but <em>Jesus</em> if he ain’t a little shit.”</p><p>David shook his head. “He’s maybe half a year younger than me and I’m only a year younger than you. Why do you call him a kid?”</p><p>“I call everyone ‘kid’” Jack said with a shrug.</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know that. But doing it often doesn't take away from the fact that it’s pretty damn weird.”</p><p>“Well, maybe I mean it like he’s one of them goats?”</p><p>“A <em>goat?</em>”</p><p>“Yeah, that works.” Jack nodded to himself and then nodded even more emphatically in David’s direction. “‘Cause he’s all shifty and he always goes climbing things ya think he can’t and ain’t supposed to.”</p><p>David blinked. “What? Do goats even do that?”</p><p>“Yep. Saw it myself.”</p><p>“When have you ever seen a <em>goat</em> in <em>New York City?</em>”</p><p>“I lived a full life before you came along Davey,” Jack said. “Ya don’t know all my stories.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to guess that one of them involves a goat.”</p><p>“I knew youse was a smart one.” Jack said cheerfully. He reached over and ruffled David’s hair and pulled away fast enough that David missed swatting his hand away, leaning back as he continued to elaborate: “Soon as I laid eyes on you, I said to myself ‘Hey, I bet that one’s real smart, I better stay away from him else I’ll end up on his roof with him making smart remarks and tellin’ me to shut up while I’s is bein’ a perfect gentleman’.”</p><p>David was not going to laugh at that. No. He <em>refused</em> to laugh at that.</p><p>“You got all that?” he asked instead.</p><p>“Yep.” Jack said, popping the p. “Another of my stories is that I’m actually a psychic but all that crystal ball stuff got borin’ so I decided I’d rather hoof it around New York yellin’ at people to gimme loose change.”</p><p>David snorted.</p><p>Jack’s eyes lit up. “Did you just–?”</p><p>David would have liked to say <em>no of course I didn’t, Jack, snorting with laughter is undignified and I have never done such a thing in my life; you are imagining things, perhaps you are the one who needs to go to bed, off you go now</em> but he was laughing so hard he could barely breathe much less say anything.</p><p>It took a while to collect himself. As he did, he looked over to Jack, ready for another bout of teasing.</p><p>Jack didn’t look like he was ready to tease him, though. He was smiling, sure, but David wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Jack have <em>that</em> smile before. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Jack get anything close to that look before.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Jack blinked then smirked his usual rakish grin. “Nothin’,” he said, before he reached across David to grab the bag of peppermints, shoving them in David’s lap. “Now c’mon, we’re getting’ one of these if it kills us.”</p><p>“Well, depending on how it lands in your mouth it just might.”</p><p>“It’s good to know ya get your humour from your Pops, Davey. I think that’s the best news I heard all night. Gotta be honest, that mystery has really been eatin’ at all’ve us.”</p><p>“Keep talking, Jack. Let’s see how well you can catch this while you’re yammering.”</p><p>“Snippy snippy. Okay. Throw it good, Davey; I got a feelin’ this is gonna be it.”</p><p>It was. Their cheers rang out over the rooftops.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Ambivalence: October 9, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At time of publishing a very odd school year has begun in my part of the world, so let’s shuffle the Jacobs off into an odd school year of their own.</p><p>Chapter specific warnings: bullying, antisemitism, classism, violence, implied corporal punishment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Ambivalence</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1.</strong> simultaneous and contradictory attitudes or feelings toward an object, person, or action; <strong>2. a.</strong> continual fluctuation between one thing and its opposite <strong>b.</strong> uncertainty as to which approach to follow [from German <em>Ambivalenz</em>, from <em>ambi</em>- both + <em>valenz</em>- equivalence, from <em>Äquivalenz</em>]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>October 9, 1899</strong>
</p><p>“Books?”</p><p>“Yes, Mama.” David sighed.</p><p>He moved his hand down the strap of his bag so that his fist was clenched where the strap met the bulky satchel. Okay, yes, he definitely had his books. Of course he had his books, he’d put them in his bag only a few minutes ago.</p><p>“And I gave you some bread…”</p><p>“Yes, Mama.”</p><p>“Scarves. You will need scarves. It will get very chilly tonight.”</p><p>“By which time we will be <em>home</em>, Mama,” Sarah said, kissing their mother on the cheek as she came to join them at the front door.</p><p>Mama gave her a look as though to say <em>physical affection does not distract from me from recognizing that you just gave me cheek, young lady; I will let it go for now but I will remember it.</em> Or something of the kind. David’s head was a little dizzy with nerves so he might have been reading too much into the slight narrow of her eyes.</p><p>She turned back to straighten David’s jacket. Or she tried to—it was so tight across the shoulders that any attempts to shift it really just threatened the seams she had spent a week trying to let out. The unexpected outcome of his summer labour had gone unnoticed when he had been wearing his father’s shirts. Now that he had to stuff himself back in his schoolboy attire it became all too obvious.</p><p>She abandoned the task and instead brushed her hands down his sleeves, making him let go of his bag as she smoothed out the wrinkles that had formed as he’d worried at the strap of his bag.</p><p>She looked at him squarely for a moment, thoughts swimming in her dark brown eyes. She smiled tightly and kneeled down in front of Les.</p><p>“I expect you to behave today, Lesham.”</p><p>“I always behave.”</p><p>She raised a brow and waited.</p><p>Les sighed. “I’ll behave.”</p><p>“Very good. Now–” she stood and looked at them all one by one. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then finally said: “Oh, never mind. You are going to be late. Off you go.”</p><p>“Yes, Mama,” they chorused, and off they went.</p><p>Les raced ahead as soon as they were outside the door, so David turned to his sister.</p><p>“What do you think that was about?”</p><p>She tilted her head towards him. “What?”</p><p>“Mama,” he clarified. “She seemed a little…”</p><p>Sarah shrugged. “She’s probably just emotional. It’s our last year and we almost didn’t have it.”</p><p>“Oh.” With all his concern about whether he’d be able to return he’d forgotten he was expected to graduate too. “I guess so.”</p><p>Sarah bumped him with her shoulder. “Come on. Les is getting away.”</p><p>“Well we can’t have that.” David said, following her down the stairs and after their little brother.</p><p>..........</p><p>Autumn was David’s favourite season—a preference his Spring-Summer-loving siblings tried to argue him out of frequently and fervently—but he had to admit it had its dingy days. The October sky was coated with a flat layer of clouds, completely grey. The pale morning sun leeched the earthy browns and tans from the New York buildings and reduced them to varied faded beiges. The only colour to be found was in the cheeks and noses of passersby, where the chilly wind nipped skin to a ruddy pink. Though his brother and sister had been cheerfully complaining about all these things literally since they began their walk, David couldn’t help but like it. He could feel every breath that entered his lungs. He could feel every gust that brushed his face. Every sensation reminded him that he was there.</p><p>Though they arrived quite early, there were already a few other students milling about the schoolyard. Sarah waved to a few of the older students but made no move to join them. They waved back and made no move to greet them further. Their eyes darted to David, furtive, and they went back to speaking among themselves. David didn’t recognize any of them, though he knew them at some point. With all the years between them, David couldn’t place the faces of the curious soon-to-be-adults.</p><p>Les craned his neck to look around, then pouted. “No one’s here yet.”</p><p>“You mean <em>Ada’s</em> not here yet,” Sarah teased.</p><p>“I thought her and Matthew would be here by now,” he whined—either he hadn’t heard her or he was doing a marvelous job ignoring their sister’s mocking.</p><p>“<em>She</em> and Matthew,” David corrected, patting his shoulder. “They’ll be here soon enough.”</p><p>He gave Sarah a stern look over their brother’s head. She just rolled her eyes.</p><p>He shook his head and said: “I better be off. I’ll try to meet you here at four-fifteen and we will walk to the distribution yard together. If I’m late, just go on without me and I’ll catch up.”</p><p>“Or we won’t do that and wait for you,” she replied.</p><p>“No,” he said with a sigh, “Sarah–”</p><p>“<em>David.</em>”</p><p>He sighed again, and explained: “If a <em>teacher</em> needs to talk to me or arrange something with me, then it will probably take a while and I might be late. I don’t want to keep Jack waiting for Les. And you don’t want to make Katherine wait, do you?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “Both of them would understand us being late if you end up having to <em>meet with your teacher.</em>”</p><p>“Why won’t they just tell you stuff at lunch?” Les asked, reminding them both that he was still there. You always eat inside anyway.”</p><p>“How did you–?” David began to ask.</p><p>Les rolled his eyes. “You always used to talk about what Mrs. Aldridge would say during lunch. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re still gonna eat with her.”</p><p>“Oh.” He supposed that was true.  “Well… it might be different since I missed so much class.”</p><p>“Why would she stop letting you eat in her room just because you missed a month?”</p><p>“No, Les, I mean…” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the building headache. “I just mean my teachers might… want to catch me up more after school.”</p><p>He ignored his sister’s scoff and muttered <em>sure, that’s what we’re going to call it now.</em></p><p>Just as Les straightened, eyes wide with understanding which Sarah <em>should not have led him to,</em> a high-pitched cry rang across the schoolyard.</p><p>“MISS SARAH!”</p><p>David jumped and turned towards the noise. Three girls—probably a few years younger than Les—were running towards them, skirts whipping around their ankles, hands on their hats to keep them from flying off with the speed of their approach.</p><p>David looked to Sarah for explanation. She was grinning wide, eyes shining.</p><p>As soon as they came close, though, she schooled her expression into bewilderment and looked behind her.</p><p>“Did you hear something?” she asked.</p><p>The girls were in front of them now. Their braids bounced on their shoulders as they bounced up and down.</p><p>“Miss Sarah! Miss Sarah! Miss Sarah!”</p><p>Sarah looked around. “Who said that?”</p><p>The three girls continued jumping, now waving as well. “Miss Sarah, down here!”</p><p>Sarah looked up. “Where?”</p><p>“DOWN HERE!”</p><p>Sarah obliged and feigned a start at the sight of them. “My goodness! And who are you?”</p><p>They giggled. The blonde one said: “It’s us Miss Sarah!”</p><p>“Hmmm… well; you certainly have Abigail’s rosy cheeks, and your hair is the exact same sort of blonde as Elizabeth’s, and you somehow got hold of Anne’s green ribbon,” she said, pointing to them each in turn, but then she put her hands on her hips and shook her head, concluding: “but I am afraid you cannot be those girls because I distinctly remember those girls were at least an inch shorter than all of you.”</p><p>“We grew!” they chorused.</p><p>“Preposterous!” she exclaimed.</p><p>They dissolved into giggles once more and Sarah dropped the act and dropped to her knees. They rushed her immediately, hugging her tight.</p><p>“Oh, it is wonderful to see you all,” she said. She pulled away and they did the same, lining up in front of her. “How have your classes been going so far?”</p><p>“Good!” they chorused.</p><p>“Well.” David and Sarah corrected automatically.</p><p>The three girls looked up to him with wide eyes before beaming.</p><p>“MISTER DAVID!”</p><p>They swarmed. Their arms were flung around his waist with such force he stumbled back a step.</p><p>“Um,” he said intelligently.</p><p>Les turned away to hide his snickers. Sarah didn’t bother.</p><p><em>What did you do?</em> He mouthed at her.</p><p>She winked.</p><p>He made a face at her and then reached down to pat their little heads. “It is nice to meet you all.”</p><p>Sarah clapped her hands twice and called: “Alright, let him go, girls. Mister David is going to be late if he doesn’t hurry.”</p><p>“Awwww,” they whined, but did as they were told without additional fuss.</p><p>“And what do we say to Mister David?” she prompted.</p><p>“Goodbye, Mister David!” they chorused.</p><p>He smiled and shook his head. “Goodbye, girls. Make sure you listen and behave.”</p><p>“We will.”</p><p>“And make sure Miss Sarah listens and behaves,” he added.</p><p>They ducked their heads together and giggled.</p><p>Sarah pushed him lightly. “Go on, before you really are late.”</p><p>He sent her a quick salute which made her scoff. “I’ll meet you here, alright?”</p><p>“Don’t keep us waiting.” <em>Watch out.</em></p><p>“I won’t.” <em>I’ll do my best.</em></p><p>“Have a good day, okay?” <em>Be safe.</em></p><p>“You as well.” <em>I’ll try.</em></p><p>“And if they sock you, you’re allowed to sock ‘em back,” Les put in.</p><p>Sarah burst out laughing as David spluttered.</p><p>“<em>Les.</em>”</p><p>Les shrugged, unrepentant. “Tit for tat.”</p><p>“Where did you even–?” It hit him suddenly and he groaned with the realization. “You are <em>not</em> selling with Race anymore if this is what he’s telling you.”</p><p>Les just laughed and pushed him towards the road–</p><p>And straight into a person.</p><p>“Oh my–<em>Les.</em>– I am <em>so</em> sorry,” David said immediately, instinctively catching the falling girl.</p><p>“No, <em>I’m</em> sorry, I wasn’t watching–” She righted herself to reveal rosy cheeks and long curly black hair and a dimpled smile that fell as soon as they made eye contact. “<em>David?</em>"</p><p>He let go of her immediately and stepped back. He looked to her left and, sure enough, Benny was right beside her, wearing an identical expression of absolute shock.</p><p>In the seven years that followed their fractured friendship, David had still seen them almost every week from a distance. It was a consequence of being in a tight-knit community—shul and school. He hadn’t been part of it, but he’d seen them grow up. Abstractly, he’d known he had too.</p><p>It did not make it any less surprising to see just how much taller he was than the pair now.</p><p>He guessed that was the cause of their shock too. It seemed his height was his savior, as their expressions had yet to tip into the outrage he knew was building.</p><p>“Good morning,” he said, a little hoarse. “Sorry again.”</p><p>He wondered if they knew he wasn’t apologizing for the bump.</p><p>He turned back to his siblings—Les looking between the three of them with deep concern and confusion, while Sarah was watching it all with deep concern and understanding—and said: “I’ll meet you here after school.”</p><p>With that he turned on his heel and walked away, brisk as the wind that blew against his face.</p><p>..........</p><p>David had talked to many people about his attendance at Barnett—his family, their friends, his Rabbi, prying older folks, his friends, newsies from other boroughs, little children at shul that would huddle in the corner of his eye before one brave enough would approach and say <em>excuse me, do you really go to that fancy school?</em> with their eyes focused on where they were scuffing their foot on the pavement. He had gotten quite good explaining it.</p><p>
  <em>Yes, I do go to Barnett. I got a scholarship. I am very grateful for the opportunity. I am very fortunate to have the support I do.</em>
</p><p>He’d had to explain many things about his attendance and the process. He’d almost been interrogated about the additional studies and the tests. He could recite his attendance requirements verbatim. He had described his days, repeated lessons, and listed his homework.</p><p>He had never had to explain what or where Barnett was.</p><p>The best description of Barnett David had ever heard came from Race. He had accosted David for a proper explanation a few days after David had shown up at the distribution yard for three seconds before sprinting away, all while wearing a uniform that had never been worn by someone with holes in their shoes.</p><p>
  <em>Barnett Prep’ratory Academy? He’d said, voice somehow more incredulous than his expression, As in the fancy buildin’ with the pointy gates? The castle one? That the one you’re talkin’ ‘bout? The one where it looks like a brownstone builder tried to make a castle and accidentally made a stupid looking cross between a mansion and a prison? That one? That’s the school you go to?</em>
</p><p>As he approached the building for what would likely be his last first day of school ever, David surveyed the building with these new descriptors in mind.</p><p><em>Mansion.</em> Three floors, the first level high-ceilings. Inside was grander—marble stairs and shining hard-wood floors, wood-paneled offices, oil portraits of headmasters and alumni on the walls whose eyes seemed to follow David when he walked past. The exterior held hints of that richness, with wide arched windows on the first level, the bottoms covered by the neatly-trimmed shrubbery. At the centre of the building was the entrance. The main door was inside an arched alcove flanked by columns. The brass door handles were polished to near-gold.</p><p><em>Prison.</em> A wrought-iron fence surrounding the property—black bars tipped with points like spears. The stone was discoloured with age. The flag above the entrance flapped in the wind, obscuring the writing carved above the entrance—BARNETT PREPARATORY ACADEMY—that announced the building’s purpose to passersby. The façade was dotted with windows, blinds half-open, hinting at shadowed figures and watching eyes.</p><p>Mansion and prison. Fortress. Academy. School. The closest thing to a castle the Lower East Side would ever see.</p><p>David felt small in its shadow. He hunched his shoulders accordingly.</p><p>
  <em>One more year. Eight months. Less. So little time left to endure. So little time to prove yourself.</em>
</p><p>He was just past the wrought iron gate when a familiar voice sent ice down his spine.</p><p>“Look who it is!” James Pearce. Great. “Geez, Jacobs, we were afraid you would never come back.”</p><p><em>I’m sure you were.</em> “Well, I have.”</p><p>James smiled—<em>sneered.</em> “Well, good thing you got here early. Now we have time to catch up properly.”</p><p>An arm was thrown around David’s shoulders. He knew who it was without looking, seeing as he did not have to hunch further under the weight of the arm. He still looked. Dark eyes, cleft chin and a mean thin-lipped smirk: Henry Triplett. Tripp. He was only a few inches shorter than David and twice as strong.</p><p>Flanked by a cruel approximation of amiability that he refused to compare to his friends’ genuine affection, David was led through the entrance, back out to the courtyard, and towards the sheltered corner of the building he knew well.</p><p>As they marched him to his doom, James kept up a steady stream of conversation.</p><p>“You know, we were worried when you didn’t show up on the first day, weren’t we, Tripp?”</p><p>“Very,” Tripp agreed.</p><p>“We thought we wouldn’t get to enjoy our last year together. Wouldn’t that just be awful?”</p><p>Tripp dug his thumb into David’s shoulder until he answered. “Yes.”</p><p>“I thought so,” James said. “Oh, hey, Ed! Look who’s back.”</p><p>Edward Thornton paused his conversation with Frank Cooke. Ed smiled and joined the procession eagerly. Frank followed hesitantly.</p><p>David’s heart thumped hard and fast in his chest.</p><p>“David Jacobs,” Ed said, drawing his name out long. “You sure cut it close, didn’t you?”</p><p>He swallowed thickly. “Oh?”</p><p>“I mean, you only had until next week to return, didn’t you? That’s what my father said.”</p><p>That was right: their fathers sat on the Board. In his first year-end evaluation, he’d made a game of looking for the resemblance to distract from how close he’d been to throwing up the tea they’d kindly provided him as they argued without his input whether he should be allowed to continue attending. The game had proven less effective the more years passed, as he grew to know their faces and as their sons grew more similar.</p><p>And that meant that they knew the requirements…</p><p>Just as they reached the edge of the courtyard, Tripp shoved David forward. David had known it was coming, though, so he quickly righted himself and turned around.</p><p>He’d been in this situation too many times to count: back corner, the wall behind him and his tormentors ahead. They had always presented a united front in their well-kept uniforms, even as time had stretched them into different shapes; Frank stocky and weak chinned, Ed short and bony, James narrow waisted and broad shouldered, Tripp tall and built. Time had done little to quell their longing to humiliate.</p><p>“You know, we’ve done most of the talking,” James said. “That’s not very kind of you, David. Don’t you want to know how we’ve been?”</p><p>
  <em>I don’t care how you’ve been you self-obsessed–</em>
</p><p>“Did you have a good summer?” he asked without inflection.</p><p>“Better than yours from what we heard,” Ed said. “A truck? Really? Was your father too lazy or too dumb to get out of the way?”</p><p>Frank’s mouth twitched before he covered it with his hand.</p><p><em>Don’t answer,</em> he said to himself, even as his hands curled into fists. <em>Don’t answer, don’t answer, don’t answer–</em></p><p>“Oh, I almost forgot to mention–” James said, in a very unconvincing act of sudden recollection, stepping forward, “–we saw your picture this summer.”</p><p>“Did you?” David said, stepping back.</p><p>“Well, Father finally got that Riis book for the family library. I’m certain I saw someone who looked just like you. There were a lot of your kind in there, though, so I might be mistaken.”</p><p>David tried not to sigh in relief. Then his dread mounted as the words settled in.</p><p>It was always fun to play Are They Making Fun of Me for Being Poor, Jewish, or an Immigrant? before the clock chimed nine.</p><p>“No, I think it was him,” Tripp agreed. “Page twenty-five, right? ‘Jews in Squalor’.”</p><p>The others snickered. Tripp looked around the group with satisfaction.</p><p>Jewish <em>and</em> poor. They had really improved the efficacy and efficiency of their insults. They must have practiced. How thoughtful.</p><p>“Enough about summer, though,” James said. “You’ve missed over a month—we have so much to catch you up on.”</p><p>Tripp stepped closer, cracking his knuckles like a two-bit villain from a Vaudeville skit.</p><p>“Bell’s about to ring,” he told them, taking another step back.</p><p>It was usually his last resort to remind them of their limitations. It made them work fast and with significantly more effectiveness but he usually could pick himself up and make it to class on time.</p><p>He couldn’t believe he’d already gotten to last resort. Maybe he was going soft.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Wright won’t mind <em>us</em> being a few minutes late,” James said. “Though that might be trouble for you, huh? What was it they said, Ed?”</p><p>“Best behavior,” Ed recited.</p><p>“Just to clarify, that’s <em>our</em> standard of behavior,” James said, wagging his finger. “Not your kind’s."</p><p>David dug his nails deep into his palms. His teeth hurt with how hard he was clenching his jaw. His chest <em>burned.</em></p><p>They moved forwards as a group. Their mouths were moving, but his heartbeat was so loud in his ears he could almost ignore their continued mockery. There was a gap between Ed and Frank—Frank never seemed to enjoy this part to the same extent as the others, usually hovering off to the side, watching for the few teachers who thought this behaviour unbecoming or cruel. David shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to make a break for it the minute they surged, pressing down a smirk. They must have gotten lax in their time off, since the gap was usually filled by–</p><p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p><p>Tripp’s eyes flicked to something over David’s shoulder.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>A foot hooked his ankle and sent him to the ground, hard. He lay still, frozen, as he sucked in a useless gasp—inhaling the dust that flew up in his fall. He didn’t have the air to cough.</p><p>Hands hauled him up and twisted his arms behind his back—angle painful enough without the strong grip. His legs were almost as uncooperative as his lungs.</p><p>A punch to his stomach made him lose the little air he’d regained. He doubled over with a cough.</p><p>Hands grabbed his jaw and forced his face up. Even through his tear-glazed eyes, David recognized the pale furrowing brows and the narrow beady eyes that tracked his every twitch of pain.</p><p><em>Hopefully you haven’t lost everything you have learned in your months off,</em> Mr. Culbertson had said after he’d absently insulted every aspect of David’s family and person.</p><p>He’d thought it was a silly worry. It was a worry that had been planted, just as Mr. Culbertson always managed to sow seeds of doubt with the surety of his scorn. David had trusted Jack in his assertions that he hadn’t forgotten anything and that, even if he had, he’d remember in due time.</p><p>It hadn’t been a silly worry. He had been right to doubt himself. Due time had not come soon enough.</p><p>Barnett claimed to house the city’s “best and brightest boys”, but most of the time it just housed the richest. The students were of reasonable intelligence, but David could easily list at least twenty of his friends with more natural aptitude than any of the boys who walked within these hallowed halls. His tormentors may have been on the smarter side of the scale, but they had little creativity between them and not a lick of ingenuity. As such, their attacks always had the same predictable pattern. Robbie Spencer would always trip him from behind so that Tripp could pin him, opening his body to an onslaught of attacks.</p><p>It was a missed opportunity for dramatic irony on their part. However, effectiveness was more important than irony when trying to coordinate the best way to beat someone to a pulp before the first bell. With his strength, firm grip, and the way he always managed to dig his thumbs in the most painful spots as he held his arms at angles just shy of dislocation, Tripp was well suited to his role.</p><p>But as thin fingers pressed into the hollows of his cheeks, nails digging into flesh, David absently considered that Robbie’s full potential for inflicting pain had gone untapped.</p><p>“Aw, he’s crying already,” Robbie sneered. “Jesus, you’re just as pathetic as I remembered, aren’t you Jacobs?”</p><p>David spit in his face.</p><p>“Augh!” he yelled, flinched back, hands flying up to his eyes.</p><p><em>Oh,</em> he thought as Tripp pushed him against the wall, shoulders colliding hard, hands ringing his biceps, tight enough that he’d have lurid purple bruises come afternoon, <em>I am going to regret that.</em></p><p>“You’re going to regret that,” James confirmed, voice dangerously calm. “Are you alright, Robbie?”</p><p>“<em>No.</em> I’m probably going to get infected now,” he whined.</p><p>Tripp loomed so close his furious scowl filled David’s entire field of vision. “You’re gonna pay for that you disgusting–”</p><p>The first bell rang out, loud, and he startled back.</p><p>“Damn,” James cursed. “I thought we had longer.”</p><p>“What now?” Ed asked.</p><p>James glared at him. “Well, we need to go to class.”</p><p>“Come <em>on,</em>” Tripp said. He yanked David off of the wall so fast his legs buckled and twisted his arms back once more, making David hiss through clenched teeth. “We can’t just let him <em>go.</em>”</p><p>“He’s not worth being late,” Frank said anxiously.</p><p>James looked at him, annoyed. Then he smiled. “You’re right. Tardiness wouldn’t be acceptable. That would be very poor behavior indeed.”</p><p>David’s heart dropped to his stomach.</p><p>James’s smile grew. “Tripp?”</p><p>David stumbled as he was suddenly released, trying to find his footing. A shove to the ground made the task impossible. He caught himself, saving his face, but hitting his elbow hard. The impact coursed up his arm. He yelped. He cursed the noise the moment it tore from his lips.</p><p>"Grab his–" hands wrestled his satchel off his shoulders "–go ahead, Robbie, you can have the honors–" and a kick to the side made him gasp and curl in on himself.</p><p>By the time he'd managed to force his battered body up, their laughter had faded into the distance.</p><p>His books and papers were strewn across the yard, the wind scattering them wide and threatening to steal them away.</p><p>Barely a breath of air in his lungs, he snatched at the nearest piece of paper. He missed it by a hair. He reached again as it flew up. It crumpled in his desperate grasp.</p><p>He must have looked half-wild as he gathered his belongings, gasping for air that wouldn’t stay, heart pounding in his ears. Half his mind yelled at him to <em>hurry hurry hurry</em> and the other half buzzed and filled his head with that cottony feeling of residual shock.</p><p>He barely had the last book in his bag as he stood and sprinted for the door, brushing the dirt off his clothes as he ran.</p><p>His shoes echoed as he ran down the halls, and he had neither the time or breath to respond to Mrs. Aldridge’s surprised “David, what–?” as he tore past her, the door of Mr. Wright’s room in sight when–</p><p>The second bell echoed in the high-ceilinged hall.</p><p>David stopped to a dead halt and took in a trembling breath.</p><p>He took off his cap and smoothed his hair. He gave one last brush at the dirt ground into his knees and jacket sleeves. He picked the stones out of the heels of his hands.</p><p>Taking another breath, he walked through the door.</p><p>“Late, Mr. Jacobs. We are not starting off on a good foot, are we?”</p><p>“Sorry sir.”</p><p>Mr. Wright deigned to look up at his offending pupil. His drooping eyes traveled up and down, taking in David’s rumbled state, pausing at his face. He wondered if the old man could see the nail-shaped indents from his seat.</p><p>He sighed, opened his desk drawer, and pulled out the ruler. “To the front.”</p><p>David closed his eyes and swallowed through his tight throat. Snickers echoed around the room.</p><p>This was not going to be a good day.</p><p>..........</p><p>Sarah hugged him tight the moment he approached her and Les.</p><p>“Marks?” he whispered as he wound his arms around her.</p><p>She shook her head into his shoulder. “You winced a bit as you shifted your bag. Arms, chest, or stomach?”</p><p>“Arms and stomach,” he said, “but they’re just sore if I move wrong. They weren’t that bad.”</p><p>Sarah sighed as she pulled back, hands on his arms as she held him by the arms, surveying him fully. Her eyes narrowed as her eyes returned to his face. She leaned in, one hand reaching up, her thumb lightly brushing at his cheek.</p><p>“What–?”</p><p>“Dirt,” David said, pulling away completely. “Come on, we better get going.”</p><p>Les looked between them, unimpressed. He sighed gustily as David put his hand on his shoulder blades and steered him in the right direction.</p><p>“Did you at least hit back?”</p><p>“I spat right in their faces,” David assured him.</p><p>Les looked up, eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I believe you.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t,” David said.</p><p>Les groaned. “Come <em>on,</em> they deserve it!”</p><p>“Les–”</p><p>“Don’t <em>Les</em> me, they did! They do!”</p><p>“Even if they did, the bell rang before I could, boychik.”</p><p>“Don’t <em>call</em> me that.”</p><p>David laughed at the high-pitched whine. “But you let Mama–”</p><p>Les threw his hands into the air. “Every time! Every <em>single</em> time!”</p><p>Sarah laughed as well, face finally breaking from her scowl.</p><p>Les pouted at her. Then he smirked, reached up, and tugged a fist-full of her hair down <em>hard.</em></p><p>“OW!” she yelled. “<em>Lesham Mordche Jacobs–</em>”</p><p>He was already tearing down the street, but he turned back to yell “VENGEANCE!” as he skidded to a stop and turned the corner.</p><p>“You’re gonna get it!” she yelled after him, hiking up her skirts and sprinting after him.</p><p>David shook his head and followed close behind.</p><p>They turned the corner to the distribution yard and saw their brother turn into the gates. He grinned back as he did so.</p><p>“I’m gonna kill him,” Sarah said through her puffs as they stopped for a moment.</p><p>“Too much explaining,” David said.</p><p>“I’ll maim him.”</p><p>“Mama would notice the blood in the washing.”</p><p>“I’ll tell him he was adopted and we found him in a dumpster.”</p><p>“You’re nicer than that–”</p><p>“I’m not but it’s nice that you think so,” she said.</p><p>“– but if you wanted to accidentally switch the sugar with salt before he puts it in his oatmeal…”</p><p>She paused. Then she grinned. “Seriously?”</p><p>He shrugged. “Might convince him to finally start using honey.”</p><p>“You and your honey,” she huffed as they finished the last legs of their journey down the street.</p><p>As they turned to enter the gates, hands pulled them over to the side. As they opened their mouths to protest, they were immediately shushed.</p><p>“Quiet!” Crutchie whispered, pointing out to the yard.</p><p>David blinked, looked between him, Jack, and Les, their eyes all trained in the same direction. David followed Jack’s gaze and Crutchie’s finger.</p><p>Apart from everyone, surrounded by small groups of newsies doing a poor job of pretending not to eavesdrop, Henry stood before Sniper. Her arms were crossed tight across her chest, shoulders hunched. Henry’s hands flitted about—fiddling with his hat, his fingers, batting at the air—as he explained…</p><p>“–so that’s why you should always get a pickle with corned beef or pastrami, but really you just need pastrami ‘cause brisket’s always better–”</p><p>“What the <em>hell–?</em>” Sarah hissed.</p><p>“He’s tryin’ to ask her out.” Jack said, not taking his eyes away from the pair.</p><p>Sarah looked back at them and grimaced. “Does she know that?”</p><p>“I doubt it, considerin’ he’s basically been tellin’ her the history of deli orders since we started walkin’ over from Jacobi’s.”</p><p>Sarah gaped. “That’s a twenty-minute walk!”</p><p>“He knows a lot about deli food,” Crutchie moaned.</p><p>“Does Sniper not like deli food?” she asked.</p><p>Jack shook his head. “She likes it fine. Why?”</p><p>“Because she looks like she’s about to pull out her sling shot and hit him in the head with the blunt end.”</p><p>“Well, she likes him,” Crutchie explained.</p><p>“She doesn’t look like she does.”</p><p>“That’s the <em>problem.</em>” Jack and Crutchie chorused.</p><p>“–course if you want it on white, you can, just that rye hold up better with all the meat–”</p><p>David winced, looking between Sniper’s flaming cheeks and Henry’s darting eyes. “Someone should stop this. This can’t– this is just painful.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Crutchie hissed. “This is the closest they’ve gotten in <em>years.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, the poor things,” Katherine said behind them.</p><p>Sarah yelped in surprise.</p><p>Sniper looked up and smiled, relieved. “Hey, you came!”</p><p>“I promised I would, didn’t I?” Katherine said cheerfully. “Come on, Sarah, Sniper is going to show me how to shoot things!”</p><p>“Is she?” Sarah said over Jack and Crutchie’s frantic whispers of <em>no, don’t, just a few more minutes, he was so close, don’t you dare–</em> “Well that sounds like fun. Could you teach me?”</p><p>Sniper’s grin widened as she nodded. It was still pretty small, like she was embarrassed by her own excitement, but David didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so pleased.</p><p>Henry looked like someone had given him twenty dollars and knocked him over the head with a bat.</p><p>“I’ll meet you later, okay?” Sarah checked with him.</p><p>“Of course,” David said immediately. He turned to Sniper. “Keep them safe for me?”</p><p>Sarah shoved him.</p><p>“Soon we won’t need protection,” Katherine pointed out with glee. “Soon we will be armed!”</p><p>David nodded, conceding the point. “Keep others safe from them?”</p><p>Katherine shoved him.</p><p>Jack snorted. “Davey, hittin’ folks and duckin’ down to avoid gettin’ caught is a rite of passage when youse is learnin’ the art of the sling shot. You can’t go deprivin’ them of tradition.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jack,” Katherine said with a smile.</p><p>Jack smiled right back.</p><p>“Alright, let’s go.” Sarah flicked Les in the nose and quickly linked her arm into Katherine’s, pulling her to follow Sniper out of the gates.</p><p>Elmer took the opportunity to put his arm around Henry and guide him over to where Specs and Tommy were sitting with their heads in their hands.</p><p>”<em>Ow!</em>” Les whined, rubbing his nose.</p><p>”You knew it was coming,” David pointed out.</p><p>Les scowled but didn’t argue. Instead he turned to Jack and asked:“Hey, we got time before we go?”</p><p>“Yeah, go say hi to Smalls,” Jack answered, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>Les ran off immediately, leaving David, Crutchie, and Jack in their quiet corner of the distribution yard.</p><p>“You know,” David said, looking to where the remaining half of the tragic pair was explaining himself, volume increasing with every statement to his own defence, to his increasingly bemused audience, “I honestly thought you were exaggerating.”</p><p>“They was fine this mornin’.” Crutchie groaned. “The hell was <em>that?</em>”</p><p>Jack shrugged, eyes still trained on Sniper and the girls. “Hell if I know. He must’ve gotten cocky and gone in without a plan.”</p><p>“A <em>plan?</em>” David asked.</p><p>Jack rubbed his eyes. “Henry can’t do shit without a plan. It’s when he starts tryin’ to improvise that he’s in trouble and that–” he gestured to the former disaster zone “–<em>that</em> was him improvisin’ his absolute worst. It’s a miracle he didn’t go hittin’ her in the face or trippin’ over his own feet.”</p><p>“Has he done that before?” David asked, aghast.</p><p>Jack scoffed. “Davey, some folks really just lose every thought in their head the minute they start holdin’ a torch for someone.” He looked over to David with a grin. "You got no clue how– <em>tight.</em>”</p><p>David paused. He tried to sort through that statement. He gave up.</p><p>He squinted at his apparently frozen selling partner. “I'm sorry, what are you– how <em>tight?</em>”</p><p>“Um…” Jack said, eyes wide.</p><p>David shifted as he continued to stare. “Jack, what’s–?”</p><p>“I’m good.” Jack said quickly. He motioned to David’s torso. “It’s tight.”</p><p><em>Oh, right.</em> David grimaced and nodded. “I know. My mother did her best but there’s no more room in the shoulders. And it’s my last year so there is no use getting another one.” He started to take his Jacket off carefully, adding: “The shirt’s almost as bad, but it’s lighter material so it stretches a bit more. Hey, could you–?”</p><p>Jack nodded. He grabbed the sleeves and pulled them down with a sharp tug. David shook them off the rest of the way, and folded the coat up neatly, draping it over his arms.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said with a sigh, rolling his shoulders, glad to finally be relieved of that burden.</p><p>“Yep,” Jack said. “Yeah, no problem, Davey. No problem at all.”</p><p>His voice sounded kind of funny though—a bit choked. David was about to ask what was wrong, but as he did so, both of their attention was drawn by Race and Albert, who were jogging towards them, grinning.</p><p>“Hey, look who made it on time and everythin’” Race clapped David on the shoulder, squeezing. “Geez, Davey, youse is gonna bust a seam in this thing.”</p><p>David batted his hand off. “Thanks, Race.”</p><p>Albert tipped his head to the side, “Y’know I think ya actually got some muscles haulin’ papes with us.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” David said, grabbing Albert’s cap off his head and whacking him in the chest with it. “Go on: laugh at the skinny kid.”</p><p>“Ain’t skinny no more, Davey.” Race said, taking the cap back and tossing it back to Albert. “Why, ya might even be nudgin’ yourself outa bein’ scrawny.”</p><p>An arm was thrown around his shoulders. It was Mush, who was wiping away imaginary tears. “Our little Davey’s growin’ up.”</p><p>David shoved him away too. “I have at least three inches on you, who are you calling little?”</p><p>“We was talking about the around way.” Race clarified, drawing a circle in the air to demonstrate. “That circle one. What’s the word for that one, Davey?”</p><p>David crossed his arms and shook his head firmly. “No.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Race whined, “you tell Specs any word he asks of you.”</p><p>“Yes, I do.”</p><p>They waited for him to continue. When he didn’t Mush, Albert, and Crutchie laughed as Race narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“I’s is <em>offended,</em> Davey,” Race said, hand at his chest, “C’mon; give me my word.”</p><p>“I don’t have to tell you,” he replied primly.</p><p>“Yes, you do,” Race replied sing-song.</p><p>David looked to make sure his brother was still out of earshot, then said: “Well shit.”</p><p>Mush and Albert cackled at his profanity.</p><p>Race fluttered his lashes and tapped his ear.</p><p>David grinned and shook his head. “Circumference. The distance around a circle, also known as the perimeter of a circle.”</p><p>Race patted his shoulder. “Much obliged, Davey, much obliged.”</p><p>“You’re an absolute menace.”</p><p>“<em>Menace.</em> That’s a good one, too. So generous, Davey.”</p><p>“Hey, Jack,” Crutchie interrupted, “shouldn’t ya be taking Les out sellin’?”</p><p>Jack cleared his throat. “Yep, I’ll get him.”</p><p>He hurried off to do so.</p><p>“You all get goin’ too,” Crutchie said to the rest of the group. “Pape’s ain’t gonna sell themselves.”</p><p>“You been spendin’ too much time with Kloppman, you have,” Mush said, but did as commanded.</p><p>“You go on, too,” Race said to David with a stern scowl, shooing him off. “Up to the penthouse with you, young man. Gotta go learnin’ more words to teach, me, right?”</p><p>Crutchie lifted his crutch up and Race raised his hands in surrender, backing away with a grin and a wink, Albert following close behind.</p><p>David’s eyes kept returning to where Jack had crossed to gather his younger brother, hoisting Les up by the waist, stumbling as Les struggled and giggled. He looked a little flushed.</p><p>“Is Jack okay?” David asked.</p><p>“Yeah, why?”</p><p>David looked to Crutchie at the speed of the response. He looked calm and unconcerned.</p><p>Nevertheless, he said: “He was– it sounded like he might be getting a cold?”</p><p>Crutchie snorted. “Nah, Jack’s doin’ swell. Don’t you worry, Davey. Just head over to the lodging house with the girls and we’ll meet there after we’s is done. If it gets too cold just sneak into the bunk area.”</p><p>The assurance helped a bit but he was still… well, worrying really was inherent to David’s person. It was probably nothing. He trusted Crutchie to look out for Jack when he couldn’t and Jack wouldn’t.</p><p>“Sure. Alright. Good luck today.”</p><p>“Thanks– Oh, hey!” David turned back at the exclamation. “How’d it go?”</p><p>Crutchie asked it with a wide and eager smile. His ever-sunny spirit was unaffected by the cool October breeze. His bag was stuffed with newspapers that he had to sell quickly—no one wanted to risk being caught out in the cold when it was still avoidable, but Crutchie worked especially hard because of the havoc the cold often wreaked on his sore muscles and joints.</p><p>David cleared his throat. “Good. It was good.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Riis book James refers to is <em>How the Other Half Lives: Studies among the Tenements of New York</em>, published in 1890. Jacob Riis was something of an early muckraker. He was a photojournalist who used early flash technologies to go into the dark homes of the poor to take photos of their living conditions. He aimed to expose the truth of the “New York slums” to the upper and middle classes, who he (rightly) argued were to blame for the working class being subjected to such dire living conditions. The book was quite successful, and Riis continued to work closely with Roosevelt to enact labour and housing reforms across New York. However, some contemporary documentary photographers criticize the ethics of Riis’s work. He aimed to capture sensationalized images of impoverished people. To the best of my knowledge, he did not ask permission to take the photographs or publish them, nor did he actually name his subjects in the finished book. He also used slurs to describe those he depicted. I am not sure if the caption Tripp credits to him here is real as I have not gotten my hands on the actual book. </p><p>Anyways. I realize that's probably not what you were focusing on in that part of this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Magnanimous: October 24, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced corporal punishment, implied/referenced bullying, antisemitism (both individual and systemic).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Magnanimous</strong> <em>adj.</em> <strong>1.</strong> generous or forgiving <strong>a.</strong> towards a rival or less powerful person and <strong>b.</strong> in forgiving insult or injury; <strong>2.</strong> high-minded; noble [English, from Latin <em>magnanimus</em> “great-souled,” derived from <em>magnus</em>-great + <em>animus</em>-spirit, soul, mind + -<em>us</em> adjective suffix]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>October 24, 1899</strong>
</p><p>Returning to school was like slipping back into his uniform—a constant strain. He still fit but it was tight—hammer the square peg hard enough and it would go in the round hole whether it wanted to or not. It was weird to be the peg and the hammer but David did what he had to do.</p><p>He was being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad. He caught up with the others within a few weeks—September had apparently been spent reviewing, so his delayed assignments were many in number and mind-numbing in process. He also easily fell back into the rhythm of waking up, walking his siblings to school, walking to his school, and then alternating between learning and hiding until the end of the day.</p><p>And since his summer spent in the sun, he knew to better value the bright lights that shone through the high halls. </p><p>He soaked in every word of new information, thinking about what he could share with his family and friends.</p><p>He took every scrap of praise his teachers awarded him—both the genuine and the begrudging, prizing them both as evidence of his successes and as comfort that he had not yet failed.</p><p>And Les was correct in his assertion that Mrs. Aldridge had not changed; she welcomed him back for their shared midday meals.</p><p>“Here; it is one of my favourites,” she said, handing him the worn fabric-bound book, “I think you will enjoy it. Would you like some tea today?”</p><p>“Yes please,” he said, taking the book gingerly. “Are you sure–”</p><p>“Yes, David.” She was the only one at school who called him that, as per his request. “I will simply keep on my shelf for you. And, besides, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it. Do you still take honey?”</p><p>“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, smiling to himself as he sat back down.</p><p>Ever since he began attending Barnett, Mrs. Aldridge had been his favourite teacher. He was probably alone in that opinion—Latin was not a favoured subject, nor an easy one. Mrs. Aldridge did not let that stop her. She apparently did not think her startlingly brilliant comprehension of a long-dead language was a talent particular to her; she had high expectations of her students. She ran through the curriculum at a breakneck speed. She spoke with fond familiarity about morphemes and then launched straight into conjugation. Pronunciation had to be precise. Translation had to be exact. She taught in a stern and disciplined manner. She did not tolerate any interruption from the class, and she somehow knew exactly where interruptions came from when they did occur.</p><p>Trying anything in her classes drew a strong penalty. Trying anything in any class meant penalty and punishment—though the other instructors did not have her ability to understand misconduct so their punishments often fell on the wrong target. Mrs. Aldridge also left the canes and rulers and straps to them, favouring intellectual punishments instead. To misbehave in her class meant extra homework questions—questions of equal weight to the rest of her assignments but twice as difficult. It meant filling a blackboard with declensions from memory.</p><p>There were rumours that someone once stole all the chalk from her classroom. In response she had done a surprise oratory quiz, deducted a full letter grade from the class for every student’s mistake, and then left to get her mark book with the advisory that if the chalk was on her desk when she returned, she could be convinced to forget the whole thing. The chalk was on her desk when she returned.</p><p>No one tried anything in Mrs. Aldridge’s class.</p><p>It was the highlight of David’s day.</p><p>If she were anyone else, Mrs. Aldridge’s name would inspire fear and angry mutters. She would be the scourge of the school. Though, if Mrs. Aldridge were anyone else, she would not be teaching in Barnett.</p><p>“Here you are.” He looked up from the book as the cup and saucer—the one without the chip on the handle—was set on the corner of the desk. A pleasant scent wafted with the curls of steam.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said.</p><p>“You’re welcome. It is a new blend. I quite like it.”</p><p>The two of them had worked through dozens of tea blends in the last few years, as Mrs. Aldridge revelled in the freedom of running her own house.</p><p>David peered into the cup. This one was a lighter colour than the blend he had at home, and much lighter than the smoky-flavoured one he remembered from last spring. </p><p>“Let it cool, first,” she reminded him—she had witnessed the effects of his inability to judge when tea had tipped from boiling to pleasantly hot too many times to leave it to chance.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” he said.</p><p>She tapped the book. “I will not keep you any longer.”</p><p>With that, she returned to her desk, put on her copper-rimmed spectacles, and dropped her tired and weary eyes to her grading.</p><p>Descriptions of Mrs. Aldridge quickly turned into a personal history.</p><p><em>Mrs. Aldridge used to be very pretty.</em> That was how the boys—and other teachers—described her. They never said it so plainly, of course, instead shrouding their assessments with pity or contempt. In truth, Mrs. Aldridge was still pretty, but she had been touched by grief. David knew she couldn’t be older than thirty, but she looked much older. Sorrow had cut lines into her fair face and shocked the brown from her hair. She was still a handsome woman, though, and, if she had desired, she could have easily found another husband following Mr. Aldridge’s death.</p><p>The task would have been helped along by the sizable fortune she'd inherited after her husband’s death.</p><p>David had known Mr. Aldridge reasonably well; he had been Mr. Harrison’s connection on the admissions board and had met with David frequently to “check in on the school’s latest investment”. Mr. Aldridge— <em>Call me Ambrose, David, we are friends, aren’t we?</em> —had apparently been friends with Mr. Harrison when they had attended Barnett. They had lost touch for a time, but maintained enough amiability to call upon each other for favours. While Mr. Harrison had continued on to become a teacher, though, Mr. Aldridge had attended college, done quite well in things that did not matter and quite poorly in things that did, inherited his parent’s estate, made a number of hair-brained investments that turned out to be lucrative, gotten very rich, gotten a pretty young wife, and then gotten a letter from his old school chum asking him to take a chance on a bright young Jew.</p><p>David could recite every one of these events verbatim; Mr. Aldridge had a true talent for telling stories repeatedly without invitation and little opportunity for interruption.</p><p>Though he had passed almost three years ago, David could easily recall Mr. Aldridge’s booming laugh, the smell of his ever-lit pipe, and the sick and shaky feelings that their lunch meetings inspired.</p><p>His death was sudden. It had shocked the school—Mr. Aldridge had always been a favoured alumni and prominent figure at school events. That a man larger than life could pass in the blink of an eye—could simply fall asleep and never wake up—shook every man and boy who had looked to him as a true model of the strength, mettle, and dignity the school claimed to imbue in its students.</p><p>No one thought Mrs. Aldridge would return.</p><p>She did so two months later—affairs sorted, straight-backed, hollow-eyed, and silver-haired.</p><p>Most assumed she kept her position to distract herself from her grief. Most said she was allowed to do so out of pity. David suspected it was closer to blackmail—Barnett valued its funders, of course, and the Aldridge’s had always been prominent funders, and if those funders wanted to keep their position… well they might be convinced to look the other way at the impropriety of it all. He had never confirmed his suspicions, of course; some questions can never be asked politely.</p><p>For months after her return, Mrs. Aldridge could barely turn around without a visiting alumnus, a teacher, or even a student approaching her and saying “sorry for your loss, he was a great man” and launching into story after story about her late husband’s magnificence.</p><p>David himself had approached her during a lunch hour. The school was quiet and calm. Most students and staff had taken their midday meals outside to enjoy the fair weather while it lasted. They had both opted to stay inside, avoiding the sun to avoid the others.</p><p>At that point, he could not claim to know Mrs. Aldridge. David had known Mr. Aldridge, though. He also knew the shapes of bruises left by hands grabbing wrists; he knew the careful posture of someone who had been yanked around like a doll and later forced to stand tall and straight lest such things be discovered.</p><p>He had simply said “I am sorry for your loss” and left it at that.</p><p>She had thanked him. Her eyes had flicked to where David knew his temple was going purple and to the green splotches that still marked his throat. She told him he was welcome to eat in her room whenever he wanted.</p><p>So marked the beginning of their odd acquaintance. She helped him avoid his bullies—initially just over the lunch hour, but she quickly learned to let him hide in her room before the morning bell and gave him a subtle nod to alert him to be ready a few moments before the bell rang. He helped her avoid her well-wishers—he pretended to need additional Latin help whenever her former husband’s friends came calling to offer meaningless apologies and brag about everything they’d accomplished with the aid of (or, David observed, with no relation to) Mr. Aldridge.</p><p>As they spent more time together, though, they quickly fell into an amiable rapport. It turned out she was significantly better at explaining herself when he asked for clarification. It turned out he was a significantly better conversationalist than his silent and twitchy demeanour would suggest. They spoke around their similarities and negotiated their differences. They discussed the news and the weather and his classes. They apologized and corrected themselves when their ingrained accidental prejudices brushed against old wounds.</p><p>He started taking the seat directly in front of her desk rather than his usual position by the door. She started keeping two tea cups in her drawer.</p><p>David took one of said cups in hand and took a sip. The tea was very… floral. It was <em>very</em> different from the tea they had at home. It wasn’t’ bad, per say, but he was glad for the honey.</p><p>“It is good,” he said, then took another sip and returned to the book.</p><p>He was only on the first page of the actual story—the preface was significantly longer than he’d expected—but he felt like he would like it. If Mr. James’s ability to establish characters was anything like his ability to establish a setting he was in good hands.</p><p><em>Real dusk would not arrive for many hours;</em> the narrator assured, <em>but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o’clock to eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an… eternity of pleasure?</em></p><p>Why did <em>that</em> sound familiar?</p><p>“David?”</p><p>He looked up at the call. Mrs. Aldridge had stopped her grading.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” she asked. “Is there something wrong with the book?”</p><p>“No, it’s very good… I mean, I’ve only just begun,” he amended, “but the opening is very good.”</p><p>She smiled. “Yes, with the dogs? Wonderful foreshadowing, really.”</p><p>He paused. Then he flipped ahead a few pages and… yep, there would be dogs.</p><p>“I’m not quite there yet,” he admitted, then used that to carry him into the odder admission: “It’s only that… well, it feels familiar but I don’t remember ever reading this book.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said. “Well… perhaps it is just <em>déjà vu</em>?”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“It’s a French term,” she explained. “It translates to ‘already seen’. It’s meant to describe when you feel as though you have already experienced something, even when you have not.”</p><p>“Oh.” That was a good one. Race would like that one. “How… how do you spell that?”</p><p>She took a piece of paper from the pile on the corner of her desk. She dipped her pen into the ink, tapped it three times on the rim, and wrote the word and definition on the page. She waved it gently as she returned her pen to its position and passed it across the desk to him.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said.</p><p>“Of course. Tell me how Mr. Higgins likes it.”</p><p>He ducked his head to hide his smile. “I will.”</p><p>He had been compelled to confess his and Race’s arrangement to her shortly after he returned—she had complimented him profusely on his greatly improved pronunciation and he had to place the credit where credit was due. She was pleased to hear of his adventures in Italian. David had not yet told “Mr. Higgins,” as he was saving the reveal for an optimal time—he was hoping he could catch Race while drinking or maybe when he was trying to balance something precariously.</p><p>He looked back down at the book and re-read the last section, thinking. “I think I <em>have</em> read this, though.”</p><p>“The book or the section?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh.” David hadn’t thought of that. “Hmm…”</p><p>He continued reading:</p><p>
  <em>The persons concerned in it were taking their pleasure quietly, and they were not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the ceremony I have mentioned…</em>
</p><p>There was no memory jogged with those words. He continued reading, skimming fine print, then flipped the page and did the same for the next two pages.</p><p>He returned to the first page with the conclusion: “Just the section, I believe.”</p><p>“That is odd,” She rested her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers against the desk. “You don’t seem the type to abandon a book after a few pages…” She smiled with him as he shook his head. “I thought not. I don’t recall him being profiled in the papers. If he was, it would have been many years ago. I don’t imagine you ever read him in your literature or oration courses.  I have only heard of James being included in college syllabuses. Even then, he is a rare addition...”</p><p>She shrugged and dropped her consideration from him to her teacup, which she took in hand and raised to her mouth. A soft blow sent the steam curling towards him, visible with the midday sun that streamed through the window—bright despite the chill that hung in the air.</p><p>She took a small sip, and held her cup up as she wryly concluded: “Unless someone handed you the book, made you read the first few pages, and then told you to stop–” <em>Oh!</em> “–believe we might have to accept the déjà vu theory as fact.”</p><p>“Someone did!” he exclaimed.</p><p>Mrs. Aldridge startled, tea splashing. “Oh, goodness.”</p><p>David stood immediately. “I am so sorry–”</p><p>She laughed and waved him off. “Do not worry, David; I only spilled a bit. I still have plenty to drink and…” she lifted the sheets of paper up off her desk to reveal the quickly-spreading stain on the lower left “…well, this letter was giving me trouble anyways. And I’m afraid this–” she peeled off one of the pieces of paper and held it out to him “–is your assignment, so I may need to apologize to you.”</p><p>David smiled sheepishly. “Really?”</p><p>“Unfortunately; yes.”</p><p>She passed him the said assignment. The tea had indeed blotted out his writing at the bottom corner, but besides that it was unharmed. There were a few notes and corrections that he would be sure to look over later, but besides that… well, there wasn’t much else besides that.</p><p>“As you can see, there is no need to worry.” She was smiling wryly as she mopped at her desk with her handkerchief. “I think there is more of my tea on there than my ink—you did very well, as always.”</p><p>He flushed at the praise. “Thank you, Ma’am.”</p><p>“No need to thank me for a fact, David,” she reminded him. “But you’re welcome. I missed your epiphany, though. What were you saying?”</p><p>He looked back down at the page—funny, the print had looked so daunting when he was little, and now it looked… well, it just looked like words on a page.</p><p>“Right,” he said, trying to determine the best way to explain. “Well, what you said was actually what happened with this book.”</p><p>She paused, a slight stall in her move to place her handkerchief back in her desk drawer. She finished the motion then sat up straight, full attention on him, hands folded in front of her.</p><p>“Someone… handed you the book,” she said slowly, “made you read it, and then stopped you?”</p><p>Well, when she put it like that… “Yes?”</p><p>She looked at him blankly for a long moment. “…Why?”</p><p>David shrugged. “I think he wanted to confirm my reading comprehension? He never actually said.”</p><p>The statement apparently did not remedy her confusion. “Who was this ‘he’?”</p><p>He thought back, “My fourth-grade teacher, so I was… nine, I believe? It was right before I came to Barnett—I think he was checking to make sure that I would be a good fit before we started doing the additional courses.”</p><p>“<em>Additional courses</em>– no, never mind,” she took off her spectacles,  letting them hang from their chain, and rubbed her eyes. “So he handed you the book, told you to read it, and then took it away.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And he never told you why?” she confirmed.</p><p>David shrugged and shook his head. “No. I never asked. Mr. Harrison did a lot of things differently. I always thought it was because he attended here, but I’m not sure anymore.”</p><p>She straightened. “Mr. Harrison? You wouldn’t happen to be speaking of Mr. <em>Christopher</em> Harrison?”</p><p>David blinked, once, twice, then said: “I never knew his first name.”</p><p>“Right,” she said. She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Right, of course. Would you happen to know whether or not he is still teaching?”</p><p>“He is,” he replied. “At my sibling’s school—the one on the corner of Hudson and Charlton?”</p><p>She laughed brightly, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I am sorry, it is only… well, I suppose you do know that Mr. Harrison was close with my husband?” At his nod she continued: “Mr. Harrison has been a great help after his passing. In fact, he’s recently reached out about…”</p><p>She trailed off, her brows scrunching together tight. She put her spectacles back on and picked up the other soggy pieces of paper she had set aside.</p><p>“For goodness sakes,” she muttered. She turned to David with an amused smile. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to a Miss Sarah Jacobs, would you?”</p><p>David did not think he could be more taken aback, but that did it. “She’s my twin sister.”</p><p>“Well,” she held up the pages, “I’m afraid I also just got tea all over my first draft of your sister’s recommendation letter to the Normal College.”</p><p>He did not think he could be more taken aback, but that definitely did it. “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>She laughed once more. “There is no need to worry. It was only the first draft. And the application is not due for quite a while—she will have my letter with plenty of time to spare.”</p><p>“But… I–” He tried to gather his scattered thoughts enough to form sentences: “I didn’t think she–”</p><p>Mrs. Aldridge was looking at him with great concern. “Did she not tell you?”</p><p>“No, she did. It’s only… well, we didn’t think she would be…” He swallowed his stutters, and said: “she missed the first month?”</p><p>“By Mr. Harrison and Mrs. Graham’s accounts, it appears that she has flown through all of the material she missed—just as you have, really. I should have put this together much earlier.”</p><p>“Oh. So…” he couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. “So she might be able to become a teacher.”</p><p>Mrs. Aldridge raised a brow. “She will if I have anything to say about it.”</p><p>David laughed—brighter than he had in weeks. “Really?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>As much as his parents had spoken of college, neither David or Sarah had much faith in the ideas—they were pleasant dreams, certainly, but they were ridiculous. They had never said so, instead smiling closed-mouth when they were brought up and nodding along with their parent’s familiar descriptions of their plans and hopes, the long list of things that would have to go right to even have a shot at something akin to a future.</p><p>The accident had disrupted all predicted paths. His parents had not spoken of college since.</p><p><em>For a moment I actually thought that I could be that, you know? That I could be Miss Sarah.</em> The choked words of a girl who dared to envision a brighter tomorrow, the height of her elation only adding to the hurt as she fell back down to reality, dreams dashed.</p><p>But apparently they <em>weren’t.</em></p><p>She could… she could still be Miss Sarah.</p><p>“I–” his heart felt too big for his chest. “<em>Thank you.</em>”</p><p>“It is my pleasure,” Mrs. Aldridge said. “And do let me know if you would like a letter or any assistance for your applications.”</p><p>He blinked, brows furrowing. “Pardon?”</p><p>“For colleges,” she clarified.</p><p>His joy dimmed and sputtered out at the reminder. “But… I can’t…”</p><p>She took off her spectacles and looked at him sternly. “David, you are a brilliant young man. You would find great success in any institution you chose and, with your grades and intelligence, you would have little trouble entering them.”</p><p>He felt a little fuzzy at the compliments—the genuine sentiment almost overwhelming—but it did not distract him from the truth that belied her words.</p><p>“I would need a full scholarship, Ma’am,” he reminded her, “and there’s the trouble of… well, there’s the quota.”</p><p>She stiffened.</p><p>She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am sorry, David.”</p><p>“It’s alright, Mrs. Aldridge,” he said quietly.</p><p>She nodded, once, then said. “I realize it might be difficult, but… I still encourage you to try. Or to think about alternatives.”</p><p>“I will, I–”</p><p>The bell cut his sentence short.</p><p>She sighed. “And so the afternoon begins.”</p><p>He drained his cup and set it and the book back on her desk. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome, Mr. Jacobs,” she said—the noise of students and teachers re-entering the halls once again regimenting them to required protocols. “I will see you in class.”</p><p>“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, turning to grab his things and leave.</p><p>Her voice came once more just as he was about to exit through the open door: “David?”</p><p>He turned back.</p><p>“Whatever you decide on,” she said, voice softer than she ever let it be when she was teaching, “I would be happy to help you achieve it.”</p><p>He forced a smile and nodded.</p><p>That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? He really didn’t know <em>what</em> he should do.</p><p>..........</p><p>“So, if I’m hearin’ you right, this nice teacher lady–”</p><p>“Mrs. Aldridge.”</p><p>“Right,” Jack leaned back against the railing, looking down at him, “So nice teacher lady says to you, ‘hey, Davey, youse is a real smart fella and I’m game to help ya ‘cause you’re a swell guy’–”</p><p>“That is not even close to what she said.”</p><p>“–and her sayin’ that makes you panic?”</p><p>“I’m not panicking!”</p><p>Jack scoffed. Crutchie snorted.</p><p>David sighed. “Okay, fine, I’m sort of panicking.”</p><p>“Sort of?”</p><p>“I am <em>very much</em> panicking,” he allowed. “Happy?”</p><p>“As a clam.” Jack nudged David’s leg, the dirt from his shoe leaving a light mark on his dark trousers. “Why though? That’s all good stuff, Davey.”</p><p>David batted Jack’s foot away and sighed again, deeper. “I haven’t really thought about what I was going to do when I graduated since…” he thought back, then amended: “I don’t think I ever have really.”</p><p>“But you think too much all the time.” Crutchie said.</p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>Crutchie scoffed. Jack snorted.</p><p>David threw his hands in the air. “Are you two going to gang up on me all night? Because that is not a kind way to treat your host.”</p><p>“Don’t think those rules count out on fire escapes, Davey,” Jack said.</p><p>“My mother fed you,” David pointed out, pointing to the crumbs dotting their shirts, “which makes you our guests. Which makes me a host. They absolutely apply here.”</p><p>“You ever thought ‘bout bein’ a lawyer, Davey?” Jack asked.</p><p>Crutchie shook his head. “No, he ain’t thought ‘bout nothin’, remember? That’s the problem here.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, Charlie,” David said dryly over Jack’s chuckles.</p><p>“<em>Charlie.</em>” Crutchie scrunched his face up at the name. “Can we at least do <em>Chuck?</em>”</p><p>David looked to his side. Through the lace curtains he could almost make out his mother standing at the stove, cooking supper. Quietly. Very quietly. So that she could hear them. Which she probably could as she stood there. Listening.</p><p>“No,” David answered. “No, we can not.”</p><p>“It’s weird enough callin’ you <em>David,</em>” Jack whined. “They don’t even <em>know</em> Crutchie.”</p><p>“<em>Charlie.</em> And maybe they don’t <em>know</em> him,” David allowed, “but we’ve called you ‘Charlie’ when we talked about you before–”</p><p>“Aww, you talk ‘bout me to your folks?”</p><p>“–and calling you ‘Chuck’ would confuse them and in order to explain we’d inevitably end up telling them it’s because you usually go by a shortened name anyways and Chuck is closer to that closer name and then they’d want to know what your usual nickname is because they’d want to call you by your preferred name and then we’d tell them and they might not know very much English but they know enough to know that for anyone else it would be offensive and then they would get upset on your behalf and you would have to explain, either going on about how you’ve chosen to reclaim the name for yourself or keep it simple and say that you’ve just gotten used to it at this point and they will either accept your reasonings but still be confused and discouraged by all they still have to learn about English and American culture, or they will remain offended on your behalf and think ill of the newsies and of me and Jack and Les and Sarah and Kath for going along with it, so really it is for the best that we all put up with the awkwardness of calling you Charlie tonight and any other time you come over.”</p><p>He finished, took a deep breath, and looked to them to confirm their understanding and acceptance.</p><p>They were looking at him blankly.</p><p>“All that,” Jack said, “but you panic thinkin’ ‘bout what you wanna do when you graduate?”</p><p>Crutchie cackled.</p><p>“Shut <em>up!</em>” David whined through his smile.</p><p>Jack was also smiling, so wide David wasn’t sure he <em>could</em> talk</p><p>“Nah.” Alright, so Jack could still talk. “I’m good.”</p><p>David shook his head. “Would you at least sit down?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Crutchie strained to kick at Jack’s legs. “Davey’s neck’s gonna hurt if he has to keep lookin’ up—he ain’t used to the angle.”</p><p>Jack grumbled but did as commanded, sitting down across from them. He winced and shivered as he leaned back. David rolled his eyes at his dramatics but gave Jack his scarf back—Jack had insisted he wear it on their walk back to David’s home, since David had given <em>his</em> to Les, who’d forgotten <em>his</em> at home that morning. Jack took it back with a grin and a wink, stuffing it under him as a barrier between him and the cool metal grating.</p><p>“Why are ya even worryin’ ‘bout this now if you weren’t worried ‘bout it before?” Jack asked.</p><p>“Mrs. Aldridge reminded me,” David reminded him. “Also, the only reason I wasn’t worried about it was because I wasn’t actively thinking about it.”</p><p>“Right,” Jack said. “So stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”</p><p>“Just like that?” David asked dryly.</p><p>“Okay, fair.” Jack stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “But… I mean, you don’t have to.”</p><p>David sighed. “No, I do. I should be worried about it, though. And I should be thinking about it.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“<em>Yeah.</em> I’m probably going to graduate this year–”</p><p>“Definitely,” Jack and Crutchie corrected.</p><p>David ignored them “–and I’ll need to be prepared to either continue with my education or get a job as soon as I’m done. If I’m going to continue with my education, I need to start compiling my applications. If I’m going to get a job, I need to start contacting employers.”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes. “Well, for starters, you don’t gotta go contactin’ nobody for a good while if you ain’t gonna start workin’ till June.”</p><p>“Yes, I do–”</p><p>“Hand up if you helped near hundreds of kids find work after they can’t sell papes no more?” Jack called out. He thrust his hand into the air. Crutchie raised his calmly. “Well, wouldja look at that? Now, <em>Charlie–</em>”</p><p>“Ugh,” Crutchie spat.</p><p>“When should Davey here be applyin’ for jobs if that’s what he aims to do?”</p><p>Crutchie shrugged. Close as they were sitting, David could feel the movement against his arm.</p><p>“Maybe May?” he offered.</p><p>Jack thrust both arms in the air, victorious. “Ha!”</p><p>David knew when he was beaten. “Fine. But there’s still colleges.”</p><p>“Well, when do ya gotta get that stuff in?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I think in January… maybe February?”</p><p>Jack pressed his shoe into David’s thigh. “That’s plenty of time.”</p><p>David pushed his foot away. “You need a lot to apply, though, like your grades–”</p><p>“–which you can ask for.” Jack put in.</p><p>“–and reference letters–”</p><p>“–which nice teacher lady offered.”</p><p>“<em>Mrs. Aldridge.</em>”</p><p>“That’s what I said, ain’t it?” Jack grinned and nudged him again. This time David whacked his shin, but it only made Jack’s smile brighten. “Davey, youse is fine. It’s puttin’ in forms then waitin’—and youse is gonna be worried while waitin’ so you don’t gotta go worryin’ now when there’s no waitin’ to do.”</p><p>David sighed. “But I don’t even know if I can go to college.”</p><p>“Sure,” Jack said easily, “it’s pricey and all, but if you can get these Barnett bastards to cough up the cash can’t you go convincin’ at least one school to do the same?”</p><p>“Probably not,” he admitted. “Most of the major colleges only really want rich students. If they give scholarships, they usually only cover some of the tuition costs. Even when they do support all of tuition, they don’t support additional fees like books and stuff. That gets… expensive.”</p><p>Crutchie grimaced. “What a con.”</p><p>David shrugged. “And, besides, it’s unlikely I’d get in in the first place.”</p><p>“But youse is real smart–”</p><p>“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m still Jewish.”</p><p>Any ease in Jack’s expression fell away.</p><p>David looked down. He picked at the loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. He knew he shouldn’t—it would only make it worse. But it was too hard to meet Jack’s eyes when they grew heavy.</p><p>Jack sighed. “And how do they go about dealin’ with that?”</p><p>“There’s a limit on how many they accept each term,” David explained. “Literally. There’s a set number.”</p><p>“What bullshit,” Jack grumbled.</p><p>“Hey–” he warned.</p><p>“I think your Ma would let me swear ‘bout this, Davey.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m with Jack,” Crutchie said. “That is straight crap. But… wait a sec, how’s your sister goin’ to school then?”</p><p>“We’re not sure if she will, remember?” he reminded them. “But I think… well, I <em>hope</em> she has a better chance because she’s going to school to become a teacher—specifically to become a teacher. She’s well-educated and has experience instructing children. There aren’t a lot of adults with those qualifications. They might… overlook some things because of that.”</p><p>“Why not do that then?” Jack asked.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Be a teacher,” Crutchie explained.</p><p>Jack nodded. “Yeah.”</p><p>David shook his head. “I don’t know… I mean… she’s always been a great teacher and I… and I don’t know what my parents would say about it or what it would cost or what would be available and I…” he sighed, “I just don’t <em>know.</em>”</p><p>“Yeah, we got that Davey,” Jack said softly. “And we ain’t tryin’ to make you decide on the rest of your life by eight-o-clock on a Tuesday here. In fact, we’s is the ones tellin’ you that’s a real dumb thing to try and do.”</p><p>“But I need to–”</p><p>“You <em>don’t.</em>” Jack said. “Hell, you <em>can’t.</em> Tell ya what, you talk to Mrs. Aldridge tomorrow or later on and get more stuff you can be sure ‘bout. <em>Then</em> start tryin’ to sort this out. Youse is just gonna tie yourself in knots if you keep this up.”</p><p>David shook his head. “How do you do that?”</p><p>Jack squinted. “Do what?”</p><p>“Make so much sense,” David clarified. “It’s really annoying when you’re the one being reasonable. It throws everything off.”</p><p>Crutchie laughed.</p><p>Jack smiled—red and bashful. “Well, stop bein’ all confused and we can go back to the right way of things.”</p><p>“I’ll try,” David offered.</p><p>“That’s all I’m askin’.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. He hoped whatever the future held for him he’d get to keep hold of his friends. He hoped whatever the future held for them that they’d be able to stay in his life, that they would continue to have the opportunity and desire to maintain the friendship he had come to value deeply—that he had learned to appreciate and rely on.</p><p>“Hey, what are you–” David cut himself off with a shake of his head. “No, never mind.”</p><p>“I still got a year ‘till I gotta go lookin’ for stuff,” Crutchie answered to the unasked question.</p><p>“And I ain’t sure, either.” Jack shrugged—he shouldered his vague prospects with more grace than David could ever manage. “Between the cartoons and backdrops, I’ve been savin’ up for when I can’t stay with the boys no more and then… well, I can always work at the docks or in a factory.”</p><p>David and Crutchie winced at the idea—they’d heard all of what little Jack said about his father to know how much he wanted to avoid the same fate of being trapped in literally backbreaking labour.</p><p>“… maybe you could get some other commissions?” David offered.</p><p>“Commissions?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>“I think that’s the word,” David said. “When people pay you to do art for them. Or you could ask Katherine about whether the Sun needs a cartoonist. And… have you ever painted backdrops for other theatres?”</p><p>“I ain’t good enough for none of that, though,” Jack said, “and Medda only lets me paint hers ‘cause she’s nice.”</p><p>David stared at him.</p><p>He turned to the boy beside him, who’s unamused expression was probably a perfect mirror of his own. “Crutchie?”</p><p>“You got it, Davey.”</p><p>He grabbed his crutch from where it lay beside him and swung it at Jack. It hit him square in the shoulder and sent him sprawling.</p><p>Jack shot back up and scrambled away. “<em>Jesus Christ!</em>”</p><p>“Not that hard!” David yelled.</p><p>Crutchie was laughing too hard to respond.</p><p>“You little–” Jack launched himself at the hysterical boy.</p><p>David barely caught him, holding him back from attacking Crutchie. “Sorry, Jack," he said, "but you really were asking for it, insulting his best friend like that.”</p><p>“I– <em>Davey!</em>”</p><p>Crutchie laughed harder.</p><p>“Boys?” his mother’s voice called from inside. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>“Yes, Mama,” David replied, tightening his hold on Jack as he rapidly grew redder with the force of trying to break free. “We are fine. Jack just… tripped?”</p><p>“Youse is still a shit liar,” Jack whispered.</p><p>“Shut <em>up,</em>” David hissed. Louder, he called: “Everything is going very well, Mama, do not worry.”</p><p>“Tell Jack to be more careful.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Jack squawked indignantly and Crutchie lost what little composure he had regained.</p><p>“Some friends,” Jack said, pushing David off, cheeks flushed with exertion.</p><p>“Youse is stuck with us, Cowboy,” Crutchie said, wiping the tears from his eyes.</p><p>“We’re all stuck with each other,” Jack corrected, hoisting Crutchie up by the arms and prodding his side mercilessly.</p><p>“Hey– no– <em>off!</em>”</p><p>David huffed a laugh. “Really?”</p><p>Jack grinned, barely dodging Crutchie’s elbow. “You said you wanted to be the reasonable one again.”</p><p>“Your generosity knows no bounds.”</p><p>“I aim to please, Davey.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The excerpts are once again from Henry James's <em>The Portrait of a Lady</em>. I do not know whether it was published with a preface back in 1899 (my copy is a reprint of the 1908 New York edition), but we're gonna assume it did.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Suave: November 7, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello and welcome to another edition of Spot the Vague Reference to Historic American Weather Events!</p><p>Chapter specific warnings: implied/referenced bullying, implied/referenced bigotry, implied/referenced child abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Suave</strong> <em>adj.</em> <strong>1.</strong> charming, confident, and elegant, with reference to persons and their speech <strong>2.</strong> smooth, soft, fluffy, with reference to texture; <strong>3.</strong> soft, gentle, light, mild (e.g. mild flavor, a mild winter). [English and Spanish, from late Middle English <em>suave</em>, gracious, agreeable; from Latin <em>suāvis</em>, sweet, pleasant]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>November 7, 1899</strong>
</p><p>Sarah jumped to her feet the moment she saw him round the corner.</p><p>“Look!” she said, pointing. She was loud enough that David could hear her clearly over the rush of the early evening. “Look! He has come!”</p><p>Les looked and jumped to his feet as well. “It can’t be! You’re imagining things!”</p><p>“Perhaps I am,” she sighed. She pressed the back of her other hand to her forehead and looked off into the distance. “Perhaps I am merely seeing the form of the one who abandoned us in all who pass us by. Oh, this eternity of delay has driven me to madness!”</p><p>Les patted her shoulder, lip twitching. “There, there.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, wiping at her dry eyes. “Promise me, Les; promise me you will never leave me to wait on the side of the road for ages?”</p><p>“Never, Sarah,” he promised. “I would never make you wait. Not like SOME PEOPLE.”</p><p>“It’s barely been twenty minutes!” David yelled back.</p><p>“David!” she said, running to meet him and grabbing his face with both hands. They shook with suppressed laughter. “It is you!”</p><p>“Nem zich a vaneh,” he hissed, “aun dertrinken.”</p><p>She cackled and pinched both of his cheeks. He pushed her off of him. She fell into Les, sending them both to the ground, laughing uproariously.</p><p>“You’re both <em>awful,</em>” he said, scowling, pulling her upright.</p><p>‘We’re hilarious,” Les chirped, righting himself. “You’re just grumpy.”</p><p>“I’m not grumpy!” he said. To his disappointment it sounded very grumpy.</p><p>His siblings obviously agreed with his assessment of his tone but not with his emotional response; they burst out laughing again.</p><p>David groaned. “Can we please just go?”</p><p>“You were the one that was late,” Sarah said through her giggles. “Do you want to explain why that was?”</p><p>“No,” David said immediately.</p><p>Sarah patted his shoulder. “Then this is what you get.”</p><p>“Look, I just- fine,” he said. “Fine. But we need to go now.”</p><p>“Why are you in such a rush?” Sarah huffed.</p><p>He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes. “Second Tuesday.”</p><p>Their laughter cut off completely.</p><p>“…Oh,” he heard her say.</p><p>“Oh, <em>shit,</em> it is!” Les said.</p><p>He then heard the tell-tale <em>whap</em> of Sarah hitting their little brother’s arm. “Don’t cuss.”</p><p>“Ow!” Les whined.</p><p>David took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please can we go—I need to change before the meeting.”</p><p>Sarah frowned. “You don’t have time to go home and change.”</p><p>He tried very hard to smother his frustration.</p><p>“I <em>know</em> that, Sarah.”</p><p>It did not work.</p><p>Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to excuse that tone as being a result of stress, but don’t test me.”</p><p>“I- ugh,” David groaned. “Look, it’s just- Jack’s going to kill me for making us late and Spot’s going to kill both of us for being late, and- <em>God,</em> this is so stupid.”</p><p>And the annoying thing—the thing that really hurt—was that it was stupid. There was no reason for him to be as late as he was. He had a routine. It was a good routine, established to ensure he could avoid the exact mess he now found himself in. On Tuesdays he finished the day in Mrs. Aldridge’s class. She's nod to warn him ahead of the bell. He'd surreptitiously pack up his things so that he could run as soon as it rang. He'd get out of the school and off of the grounds before his classmates had even grabbed their coats. It was seamless.</p><p>Unless, of course, some idiot dropped his good pen as he was packing up his things and had to wait until the end of class to retrieve it. Unless, of course, the pen rolled to the feet of James Pearce, who kicked it under the bookshelf. Unless, of course, the aforementioned idiot had to move the bookshelf to get the pen because it was the only one that he had left that didn’t leak and ruin his assignments. Unless of course, this monumental pen-dropping idiot completely lost his carefully arranged head-start and ran right into his classmates, who were eager to say goodbye at the end of the day.</p><p>One stupid mistake and he was going to be late for the most important union meeting of the month—the one that had been moved back specifically so that he wouldn’t be late—with his scalp still burning, his side sore, and, though he was certain he’d wiped it all off, the feeling of spit drying on his cheeks.</p><p>David sighed heavily. “Come on then. Might as well get this over with.”</p><p>"Wait."</p><p>David looked to his sister. She was staring at him. She had that familiar look in her eyes though, the one she got when she was figuring out a particularly complicated problem, or when she was fixing a mistake in her embroidery. It was an expression of utmost focus and not a small amount of <em>I’m going to work this out, you just watch me.</em></p><p>“You’re not going to be late,” she decreed. With that declaration, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the schoolyard.</p><p>“Um…” was all David could say as he stumbled behind her. “What?”</p><p>She did not respond. She just kept pulling him until they reached the other side of the school. It was the side furthest from the street, the fence close to the side. It was bracketed by two trees, both thick-trucked and leafy. The trees and the building itself shaded the area from what little sunlight was peaking through the clouds. The spot was nearly invisible to anyone who didn’t know to look for movement between the branches.  It was the spot kids usually went to trade food or settle quarrels. The ground was worn to dust and divots. The feeling of it under his feet made David almost nostalgic—the dirt was hard-packed, sure, but it was softer than pavement.</p><p>She let him go and turned around. “Take off your coat and uniform.”</p><p>Sarah's assessments of her own madness may not have been far off. “Have you lost your <em>mind?!</em>”</p><p>She rolled her eyes . “I mean take off your coat and your shirt and jacket, dummy,” she huffed. He took off her own scarf, throwing it to the ground, then started taking off her coat, too. “Come one, you’re running late, remember?”</p><p>David sighed. “Sarah, <em>what</em> are you-”</p><p>His sentence cut off as Sarah turned her coat inside out.</p><p>Last winter had stretched long and hit hard. The worst of it had hit late in the season, with the temperature dropping so close to zero that Mr. Hochman gave Les his thermometer to watch for the final dip in an attempt to distract him while they tried to stop the frost from climbing up the walls. Fuel had been short and expensive. They’d all worn out their winter clothes. To get and stay warm, they’d gotten creative.</p><p>As demonstrated by the worn plaid lining Sarah’s dark blue wool coat.</p><p>"Oh!" Les said.</p><p>For the first time that day, David smiled. “You’re a genius.”</p><p>“And you’re as slow as a tortoise,” she said. “Strip, damn you!”</p><p>David did so immediately. Les fished Sarah’s sewing kit out of her bag and tossed it to her. With almost a single smooth movement, she ripped the stitches that attached their father’s old flannel work shirt to the inside of her jacket.</p><p>By the time David had managed to strip down to his undershirt, the shirt had been freed. She tossed it to him and he threw it on, hastily buttoning it and tucking it into his trousers before he pulled up his suspenders.</p><p>“Damn,” Sarah said, eyes catching on the frayed and gaping hole that had put the shirt out of commission in the first place. “Les: his vest.”</p><p>Les grabbed it off the pile and tossed it over. David shrugged it on.</p><p>“Okay…” Sarah said, already shivering as she brushed the loose threads off her jacket. “That should do.”</p><p>“Wear my shirt and jacket,” David said back.</p><p>Sarah made a face at him. “I don’t need to–”</p><p>“It’s chilly,” David said, putting his own coat on to ward against the frigid air. “You don’t have lining any more. <em>And</em> it’ll be easier than carrying it.”</p><p>“Oh, worry about yourself,” Sarah huffed. “And <em>go.</em>”</p><p>“Right,” he said. He held his arms out. “Do I look okay?”</p><p>“Do up your fly and you're golden,” Les said.</p><p>“What?” David asked, checking to find– that it was done up.</p><p>Les cackled.</p><p>“<em>Les–</em>”</p><p>“I’ll remind you to kill him later,” Sarah promised, “Now <em>run!</em>”</p><p>David ran.</p><p>..........</p><p>Since the beginning of time, the Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies held their meetings on the second Tuesday of each month.</p><p>At least, that was what David had been told. He’d tried to argue that the World had not existed since the beginning of time, nor had any other newspaper, so that simply could not be true. The world itself had not existed in the beginning of time, so it definitely could not be true. Jack had just pouted at him until he agreed to listen to the rest of the story without “backtalk or sass”.</p><p>Regularly scheduled meetings were practical. Each borough had their own complicated internal affairs, not to mention a constant duty to their obliging customers. Leaders were especially busy; they had to sort out these complications, ensure their charges were able to sell their papes, and sell papes for themselves. Brooklyn and Manhattan had to do this for almost twice as many newsies as the other boroughs. Meeting with other leaders? Yet another struggle. They had no time to coordinate meetings. They needed a meeting time that everyone could keep track of. They decided on “Two Tuesdays at Two”—the second Tuesday of the month at two o’ clock in the afternoon. It was enough time that even the worst newsie would be done selling the morning edition and close enough to the evening edition that everyone wanted to wrap the meeting up quickly. It hadn’t changed in years.</p><p>When Jack had first suggested they reschedule the meeting so that David could still attend, David had been flattered. Incredibly flattered. That Jack was willing to sacrifice such an established tradition for him meant more than words could say. He was absolutely sure the gesture would blow up in Jack’s face, but he was flattered.</p><p>Spot Conlon had agreed to the new time immediately.</p><p>David had once again been reminded that he had no clue what went on in Spot Conlon’s head.</p><p>In any case, their meetings were moved back without complaint.</p><p>And so, on November 7th, the second Tuesday of the month, probably around five-o-clock in the evening, David found himself in a collapsing Brooklyn pier, sitting at a battered table, coat pulled tight against the freezing wind, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache.</p><p>“For the love of–” Jack slammed his hand on the table. “We ain’t talkin’ about the bridge again!”</p><p>Spot slammed his hand down too, barely an inch away from Jack’s. “We’s is talkin’ ‘bout territory, we’s is talkin’ ‘bout the bridge.”</p><p>“We’s is talkin’ ‘bout <em>talkin’ ‘bout</em> territory, we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout it <em>now!</em>”</p><p>Spot looked at Jack like he couldn’t decide whether to shake him, call him an idiot, yell at him, or just throw himself into the East River. It was a look David was very familiar with—he'd seen Spot make it many times and he was quite sure he himself had made it many times. There were a lot of emotions that went along with the face, many of which could not be articulated.</p><p>Spot settled on saying: “The <em>fuck</em> does that even mean?”</p><p>“I–” Jack cut himself off with a groan. “Davey?”</p><p>David dropped his hand from his face and leaned forwards, folding his arms neatly on the table. He remembered reading somewhere that it was a placating gesture. It was a gesture he used a lot when talking to Spot Conlon.</p><p>“It’s like we said last month, Spot,” he said, in the mild tone he used to convince Les it was time to go home for supper, “our current system of alternating mornings and evenings on the bridge is working. It will keep working so long as we continue to follow it. We know it isn’t a permanent solution, but we would like to wait and have the final negotiation at the first territory meeting with the other boroughs.”</p><p>“The bridge don’t mean shit to them, though,” Spot said, jabbing a finger at him. “We sort this out now and we got less to worry ‘bout at the meeting.”</p><p>“If we sort it out at the meeting, though, it models how these discussions could go for the rest of the boroughs,” he countered. “This is the biggest territory dispute we currently know about. More importantly, you and Jack are the two most important leaders in the Union. If you show that these things can be negotiated it’s more likely that no one is going to leave the meeting with a broken nose or split lip.”</p><p>Spot snorted. Then he huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Ugh. Fine.”</p><p>Jack perked up. “Fine?”</p><p>“Kelly, don’t you fucking push me,” Spot warned.</p><p>Jack raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide. “I would never.”</p><p>Spot snorted again, this time with a smile. “Course not. Alright, hotshots–”</p><p>“Hey,” Hotshot said from Spot’s side.</p><p>Spot groaned as the crowd of Brooklyn newsies scattered around the pier started to snicker. “Every damn time.”</p><p>Jack laughed too. “Walked into that one, Spotty.”</p><p>“I thought I told you not to push me, Kelly,” Spot warned, but his lip was twitching.</p><p>Jack mimed locking his lips up.</p><p>“Alright, <em>boys,</em>” Spot said pointedly, “how we gonna even manage these talks? Ain’t like none of us got a map or nothin’.”</p><p>Jack grinned, cat-with-the-cream. David was sure his smile mirrored it.</p><p>“We didn’t,” David said. “We’re getting there though. Jack?”</p><p>David knew he didn’t have to cue him, seeing as Jack was already reaching into his satchel but… well, sometimes Jack’s penchant for dramatics was fun to indulge. And, besides, they’d worked hard on this part. David had introduced Jack to the Bond Street librarians, both of them slathering the flattery on thick. Jack had spent hours between editions painstakingly pouring over maps and copying them into books. David had taken to joining him in the evening, doing his and others' homework as fast as he could to help Jack figure out the directions. Even the other boys had gotten involved—Race and Elmer checking and correcting David’s math, Henry helping Jacobi during lunch rushes in exchange for a few of his good pens. Sniper had even managed to get them piles of paper, refusing to answer where she got them from. Though the refusal might have just been muteness since, after she’d set them down on the table, Henry had whooped and spun her in a hug, leaving them both dizzy and dazed.</p><p>Jack set the drawings on the table, the clean white and clear black lines stark against the old newsprint that separated them.</p><p>Spot raised one brow and leafed through them. After the fifth one his second brow rose to meet his first. By the tenth he was smiling.</p><p>“This you, Cowboy?” he asked.</p><p>“Might’a been,” Jack said.</p><p>Hotshot looked over Spot’s shoulder and whistled low.</p><p>“What?” asked some of the boys behind them.</p><p>“Kelly’s been drawin’ maps in his spare time,” Hotshot said.</p><p>“This all of it?” Spot asked.</p><p>“Nah. Still gotta get Flushing,” Jack said.</p><p>“Jesus,” Spot said. He placed them back in the pile carefully. “Right map-maker you are, Kelly. There a fancy word for that, Davey?”</p><p>He thought it over, then said: “I guess… Cartography, technically, but I don’t know if it also applies for copying maps.”</p><p>“Does now,” Spot decided. “It accurate?”</p><p>“Yep,” Jack answered surely—they’d spent weeks making sure it was.</p><p>Spot nodded. “Alright, I’ll trust ya.”</p><p>Someone behind them scoffed.</p><p><em>What?</em> David went to turn.</p><p>A hand squeezed his knee.</p><p>It took every ounce of effort he had to not jump or flinch at the touch. The hand let go almost immediately and settled on the table. David followed the movement, then followed the line of the arm up to the shoulder, then neck, then to the face. His profile was stark against the light grey wash that covered the city, brows barely furrowed, lips set in a firm line.</p><p>If David hadn’t been looking closely, he wouldn’t have noticed him shaking his head.</p><p>“So we think we oughta use this in the talk,” Jack said. “Put 'em on a big table. And we'll paste 'em on boards so's that no one goes rippin’ it when they get mad.”</p><p>Spot smirked. “Aw, you still sore ‘bout that?”</p><p>“Yeah you ass,” Jack said. “It was a good drawin’ and I <em>was</em> payin’ attention. Don’t matter though. So we use this as base and then we figure out the boundaries—talk ‘em all over, draw ‘em out to make sure, scope out the spots later even, then when we’s is all good we write ‘em out, draw ‘em out, whatever the hell it takes to keep ‘em straight.”</p><p>“Fifty cents says he volunteers so he can draw ‘Hattan twice the size,” one of the boys behind them muttered.</p><p>Jack froze. If the ice that traveled down his spine felt like the ice that ran down David’s it would have been impossible not to.</p><p>“What?” Spot asked.</p><p>“Nothin’,” Jack said immediately, pasting his smile back on. “So how’s that sound?”</p><p>A scoff, the same voice muttering: “Sounds like a fuckin’ joke.”</p><p>A few shushes. They were almost as soft as the snickers.</p><p>Jack’s smile faltered.</p><p>A different voice: “York, I swear if you don’t shut the <em>fuck</em> up–”</p><p>“Jack?” Spot asked, brow quirked expectantly.</p><p>David had no clue what he’d said.</p><p>Jack cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. Um… that’s a good idea, so what if we–”</p><p>“Come <em>on </em>Raf,” the boy was saying. His voice was pitched just low enough that Jack could hear him but Spot carried on oblivious. David could now identify it as York, one of the older Brooklyn newsies. David had previously thought highly of him. “You tellin’ me I’s is <em>wrong?</em>”</p><p>David’s stomach churned. His heart was pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears.</p><p>“How are we gonna get news to the others?” Spot was asking.</p><p>“We send word through newsies.” Jack said calmly. David had no idea how he was staying so calm when David felt like his composure was being stripped away with every hissed word behind them.</p><p>“Oh, fuck off, you believe that shit?” York was saying.</p><p>The pounding in David’s ears turned to a <em>roar.</em></p><p><em>Ignore him,</em> he said to himself, even as his hands curled into fists in his lap. <em>Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him–</em></p><p>“Don’t wanna risk it getting mixed up. We tell them. I meet with Artie next week. You got Hunter?”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> what Spot said, but I don’t see why <em>we</em> gotta just stand here and listen to his spew this shit when we all know he’s gonna turn tail the minute talks get hard.”</p><p>Nope. Fuck that. <em>Fuck</em> this stupid ignorant and self-obsessed little–</p><p>“Huh, Davey?”</p><p>David looked up. “Pardon?”</p><p>“We tell Hunter the plan,” Jack said, smile warm, eyes warning. “She’ll be glad to see ya.”</p><p>David nodded. “Sure. We can tell her.”</p><p>“Great!” Jack chirped, then launched into debating who’d take Flushing.</p><p>David wasn’t listening, though. He should be. He shouldn’t be listening to the- to the garbage behind him.</p><p>
  <em>He just wants attention. He just wants to start a fight and throw the negotiations off. Or maybe he has… concerns about Jack. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he just wants a fight and giving him one will do nothing.</em>
</p><p>The same defender as before hissed: “York, you best sleep with one eye open tonight, comprende?”</p><p>York just snorted. “So long as Kelly’s in charge I will be.”</p><p>
  <em>Giving him a fight will only give him the attention he wants. And, yeah, maybe there’s the risk of him convincing others… no. No, don’t think about that.</em>
</p><p>“Spot; take Richmond?”</p><p>“Ugh.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s fine. Don’t pay him any attention.</em>
</p><p>“Jack’s the union leader!” hissed David’s new favourite Brooklyn newsie. “The head of the revolution that made sure you don’t starve! Show him some respect!”</p><p>“Kelly’s just a damn snake–”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t let him get the best of you.</em>
</p><p>“Well, if you’d let me send some of my boys…”</p><p>“Stop tryin’ to back out of walkin’ a few blocks, Kelly. Exercise won’t kill ya.”</p><p>“–waitin’ for another clear shot at Spot’s back.”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t react.</em>
</p><p>“Fine, Cowboy. Flick’s on me.”</p><p>“The next time he turns tail–”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t react.</em>
</p><p>“But I’s is just gonna tell Flick to save his questions for the meetin’–”</p><p>“–and there will be a next time–”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t react.</em>
</p><p>“–so you both better get ready for the third degree then ‘cause I sure as hell don’t got time to sit through all that.”</p><p>“–he’s gonna fuck us all over.”</p><p>
  <em>Do not react.</em>
</p><p>Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. The motion neatly hid the tremble in his hands.  “Much obliged, Spot.”</p><p>
  <em>Just ignore him. Just keep ignoring him. Just deal with it. Just don’t react.</em>
</p><p>“You two take Aggie. She’s still sore with me ‘bout–”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t react. Do. Not. React. Do. Not</em>
</p><p>“Least we know none of the other boroughs got a wad of cash to bribe him with.”</p><p>David stood up and turned around. “York, do you think I’m an idiot?”</p><p>The world snapped to attention.</p><p>York was standing directly behind David. Or, well, he was directly behind David, leaning on the weathered old post that held up the decrepit pier’s sign. His stick-thin frame was swimming in his red flannel shirt. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest. His nose and cheeks had been wind-chafed bright red. His cap was pulled low over his sand-coloured hair. He was frowning. The curl of his lips still suggested the sneer David had heard in his voice.</p><p>He was flanked by Brooklyn newsies. They were surrounded by Brooklyn newsies. They always were when they crossed the river, and their constant quiet background conversations were a steady reminder that they were in someone else’s territory.</p><p>The only sounds now were the creak of the pier, the rush of the river, and the distant noise of the city.</p><p>“<em>Davey,</em>” Jack hissed.</p><p>“What’s goin’ on?” Spot asked behind him.</p><p>“I’m asking York a question,” he clarified, gratified his voice was steadier than he felt. “York: do you think I am an idiot?”</p><p>York’s eyes darted away and around. Probably looking at the kids around him. David wasn’t sure. He wasn’t looking away from the boy in question.</p><p>York crossed his arms tighter. “No.”</p><p>“Hmm.” David crossed his arms too, settling his weight onto one leg. “Do you think Spot is an idiot?”</p><p>“What the <em>hell–</em>” Spot demanded</p><p>York stood up straight, arms coming to his sides, hands forming fists, ready to jump. “What– No! What the fuck are you–”</p><p>“Do you think–” David continued, raising his voice over the other boys’ protestations “–that Spot would agree to work with a leader who is not suited to the task?”</p><p>York’s mouth snapped shut. From the lack of sound behind him, David assumed Spot did something similar.</p><p>Through visibly gritted teeth, York said: “…No.”</p><p>“No,” David said softly. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and, calmly as he could, continued: “I realize that we’ve only known each other a short time, but I assure you that I also would not work with someone who wasn’t more than able to live up to the leadership.”</p><p>He moved away from the small table they’d set up. The old wood creaked under his foot—the pier had always been a little perilous but David had never felt so close to the edge before.</p><p>“I would not work with someone who wouldn’t give everything to make sure that those he cared about and was responsible for were protected,” he assured the glaring Brooklyn newsie—he assured all of the newsies, who’s eyes were so focused on him he could feel every one, he felt like a thousand people were watching him, it felt like a thousand pounds on his shoulders- “and I would not trust anyone to be president if I thought they were not absolutely and wholeheartedly devoted to the newsies. And here I am.”</p><p>York looked away. His face was beet red. Embarrassment or anger? David had no clue which.</p><p>He sucked in a thin breath: “So if the events of the rally had been as simple as you’ve implied–” a chair scraped behind him, but David knew he could only pull this off if he kept going and didn’t stop “–then I think you know that such actions must have been addressed. That we <em>all</em> must have decided they were forgiven. Or maybe we realized that they were more complicated than they looked if you didn’t bother to get more information than was immediately apparent.”</p><p>The sound of the river and the howl of the wind filled the air. The sign above them groaned in the elements.</p><p>David broke the silence he’d created: “In any case, what matters is that I serve as Jack’s VP. Spot continues to work with Jack. And seeing as neither of us are idiots, I think it is fair to say that Jack’s role as President should be respected and that he in turn should be afforded the respect that his position affords him.”</p><p>He took a final step towards York.</p><p>If someone had even breathed too loud, his next words would have been lost in the wind.</p><p>Instead they rang loud across the pier: “So I am going to write your comments off as a result of stress, but I would recommend that you never say anything like that again.”</p><p>York swallowed visibly. “Fine. Sorry.”</p><p>“Alright.” David said softly. On wobbly legs he turned around and returned to the table.</p><p>Spot was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.</p><p>Jack wasn’t looking at him at all.</p><p>“Huh,” Spot said. “We’re done.”</p><p>Jack stood up so fast his chair clattered to the ground. He left without another word.</p><p>“Jack,” David called, moving to follow.</p><p>Spot grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait. Davey, just give him–”</p><p>David pulled out of his grip and ran.</p><p>..........</p><p>He was less than two blocks away.</p><p>The evening crowds swarmed around him, faceless passersby flitting through the space between them. David saw him in moments—a man in a top hat, Jack’s hands stuffed deep in his pockets; a woman dragging her screaming daughter, the clench of Jack’s jaw; a troop of boys running after each other, Jack’s head bowed so low his chin almost touched his chest; a couple looking at each other like no one else was there, Jack’s shoulders rolled inwards, curled up in his beat-up jacket the way Les would curl up in blankets on cold nights.</p><p>David threaded his way through the sea of dark coats to his friend’s side.</p><p>“Jack?”</p><p>His jaw tightened but besides that he gave no reaction to David’s presence.</p><p>“Jack?” David asked nervously. “Are you–”</p><p>Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him into the alley. Once shadowed by the building, he didn’t release David so much as threw him away.</p><p>“<em>Ow,</em>” David hissed, rubbing his bicep. “Jack, what–”</p><p>“What the fuck was that?” Jack demanded.</p><p>David blinked. His hands dropped to his sides. “What?”</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em> was that?” Jack repeated. His voice was even more raw the second time.</p><p>“I–” He swallowed. He didn’t know what to look at; the flat line of Jack’s mouth, the flare of his nostrils, the burning rage in his eyes– “I just–”</p><p>“You just <em>what?</em>” Jack demanded.</p><p>David swallowed. “It was just that…what he was saying was–”</p><p>“Was about <em>me!</em>” Jack said, voice straining under the force he was taking to keep level. “It was about <em>me</em> so you’d think I’d get to decide what to do about it!”</p><p>David’s throat tightened with each word. “Jack, I’m–”</p><p>“Just–” Jack took off his cap and raked his hand through his hair, almost tugging at it, pulling it out. He grimaced; his entire body was tense, taught, like he was being pulled in every direction, waiting to be released, waiting for the painful snap. “<em>Fuck,</em> Davey! You know how <em>embarrassing</em> that was? Havin’ you get up and- and ‘defend my honour’ or some shit like that? I didn’t– I was fine!”</p><p>He was shaking his head. “You weren’t. You <em>weren’t,</em> Jack! I saw you! And what he was saying was–”</p><p>“Yeah!” Jack burst. “I know what he was sayin’ Davey! I heard him just fine! And you should understand how you can’t just go ‘round yellin’ at every kid that talks behind my back!”</p><p>“I do!” David defended. “I do, but he was <em>wrong!</em> I wasn’t going to let him spread that shit around!”</p><p>“Why the hell not?” Jack yelled, “Everyone already says it!”</p><p>“They shouldn’t!”</p><p>“They SHOULD!”</p><p>David froze.</p><p>Jack’s eyes went wide. “I–”</p><p>He didn’t finish the thought.</p><p>David’s chest hurt. His voice came out too soft: “Jack…”</p><p>“I– fuck.” Jack scrubbed his hand over his eyes and turned around. Even through his jacket, David could see the trembles that down his frame. Jack slammed his hand against the wall. “FUCK!”</p><p>The action and word drained all the fight out of him. He sank to the ground, legs practically buckling under him. He turned and leaned back against the wall, tipping his head back. His eyes were screwed shut, so tight it furrowed his brow and lined his forehead.</p><p>David breathed in shakily. Then, unsteady and quiet, he knelt down too.</p><p>They were close enough that he could feel their proximity, even though they weren’t touching. He tucked his legs up to his chest and put his arms around them, his hand grabbing his opposite wrist. It hurt a little, his shoulder still being sore and all, but… well he deserved it.</p><p><em>God,</em> what sort of friend was he if he hadn’t known Jack still…</p><p>That wasn’t going to help.</p><p>Jack just needed to know he could let this go now.</p><p>So quiet it almost trembled between them, David said: “You told me you didn’t do it for the money.”</p><p>Jack pasted on a smile. It hurt to look at. “What, you doubtin’ me, Davey?”</p><p>David shook his head. “The only one here doubting you is you.”</p><p>The painful smile slipped off to show painful emptiness. “It don’t matter why I did it,” he said, voice low. “I still did it.”</p><p>“You made up for it.” David reminded him.</p><p>Jack scoffed. “Sure.”</p><p>The derision struck David to the core.</p><p>The quiet settled between them. Out in the street an argument broke out. It was too far away to hear what it was about. There was just a swell of loud voices and choppy sentences. The wind carried most of it away—even though they were sheltered in this little alley, it howled around them. Between them. Through them.</p><p>Jack’s arms were crossed. His head was bowed. He scuffed his shoe against the pavement, back and forth, like he was trying to wear a hole in one of them and didn’t care which gave out first.</p><p>The last time Jack had looked so lost…</p><p>David swallowed. “What was the Refuge like?”</p><p>The scuffing stopped. “What?”</p><p>“What was it like?” he asked again.</p><p>“Don’t see what that’s got–”</p><p>“You do.” The words were sharp. They cut through the protest accordingly.</p><p>Jack’s mouth snapped shut. After a few shallow breaths he tried again: “Come on, you read the papes.”</p><p>“I did,” David admitted. “I sold them, too. I sold them with you.” He paused. “I think that was the only time I saw you stick to the headline.”</p><p>Jack stiffened. “So?”</p><p>“So I don’t think you could even stand to read past the headline.” Jack’s jaw clenched even tighter—the only confirmation David needed. Even softer, he continued: “I read them, Jack. They were…” He shook his head. “Jack, I’m never going to forget the things I read. And I think it might have been even worse than what they reported.”</p><p>A muscle jumped in Jack’s jaw. “Might've.”</p><p>“Might've," he confirmed. "Jack…” He waited until Jack was looking him in the eye. Then he asked: “Do you think I’m an idiot?”</p><p>Jack huffed a little laugh. “No, Davey. I don’t think you’re an idiot.”</p><p>“Thank you,” David said. Smiling felt wrong but he did it nonetheless.</p><p>Jack’s returning smile made it feel a little more right. “This the part where you go on ‘bout how much you trust me?”</p><p>“I could,” David said, “but I honestly have no idea where all that came from and it was really exhausting.”</p><p>Jack did the huffy laugh again. “Okay.”</p><p>David leaned over until their shoulders were touching. “Okay?”</p><p>Jack rocked a little, bumping David’s shoulder gently. “Okay.”</p><p>David bumped his back. “And I am sorry that I lost it like that.”</p><p>Jack snorted. “If that is you losin’ it, Dave, then ‘Hattan’s got the best damn VP in the world. And… well, I don’t want you to do it again, but I know why you did it. Can’t have people talkin’ bad about us if we want to keep this all goin’ well.”</p><p>David couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Alright, now I’m starting to think <em>you’re</em> an idiot.”</p><p>“Starting?” Jack asked.</p><p>David shoved him. Jack just rocked back.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jack said—though the laughter in his voice said differently. “Fine. You were saying.”</p><p>“I was <em>saying,</em>” David said, “that I didn’t say all that to defend my president.”</p><p>“No?” Jack asked</p><p>“I said all that because I was angry,” David explained. For some reason it felt a bit like a confession. “He was going after my best friend and it made me really angry.”</p><p>Jack blinked. His mouth opened and no sound came out.</p><p>He tried again: “Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>Oh.</em>” David mimicked, shifting a little under the weight of Jack’s deep brown eyes.</p><p>Jack kept looking, steady and heavy and worryingly uncertain. Then, slowly, he said; “I’m not gonna thank you for doing it.”</p><p>David nodded. “I know.”</p><p>“Okay. But... uh.. thanks for…” he cleared his throat, “for caring enough to do it.”</p><p>David smiled and bumped his shoulder again. “My pleasure.”</p><p>Jack smiled and bumped his back.</p><p>David sighed. “Tell me, and… please be honest: did I just make a whole bunch of problems for us to deal with later?”</p><p>“Nah,” Jack said. “Problems were there already. I don’t think you made ‘em worse. Not sure if you fixed ‘em, but I don’t think you made ‘em worse.”</p><p>David nodded and sighed again—not quite in relief but not really in anything else either. “What should we do about York?”</p><p>“Up to Spot now.” Jack said. He shrugged. Close as they were, David felt the motion against his side. “He’ll talk to him. Maybe. Don’t know how they do it in Brooklyn.”</p><p>“If he does… do you think it will work?” David asked.</p><p>“Could,” Jack said. “I mean, can go either way, you know? Sometimes you get Tommy, sometimes you get Southpaw.”</p><p>David looked over, confused. “Tommy?”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Tommy. Tommy’s Ma’s thinking was so backwards ‘bout some stuff she should’a been an acrobat with how she managed to walk straight with her head so far up her ass.”</p><p>Well… that was an image.</p><p>“Have I explained mixed metaphors to you before?” David asked.</p><p>“Yep.” Jack said, grinning.</p><p>David raised a brow. “So you did that on purpose.”</p><p>“Wanted to see your face.”</p><p>He sighed. “Tommy?”</p><p>“Tommy,” Jack agreed. “So… Tommy’s Ma died—not sure how but it was bad and it was quick. He ended up on the street. Kloppman found him and took him in. Thing is, though, lots of what his Ma said rubbed off on him. He was…” Jack broke off with a grimace. “I’ll be honest, Dave, he was a right bastard. But he didn’t have nowhere else to go and we didn’t want to send him packin’ so… we sorted it out. Those of us that could, we helped him. And Tommy… Tommy listened. He wanted to… I don’t know really. I don’t know what happened to make him want to change and I ain’t gonna ask ‘cause I don’t need to know. But he did. And he has. It took a long time and it took a lot of work but he’s better and he’s made it up to the folks he hurt in the first place. Even the folks he hurt by accident.”</p><p>David felt a little breathless. “Oh.”</p><p>Jack shrugged like he hadn’t just said something David previously thought a distant and hopeless goal. “None of that would’ve happened if he didn’t want to change, though. And he wouldn’t’ve managed it if we weren’t there to help.”</p><p>“So… sometimes people change?” David clarified.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Jack said simply. “Sometimes you get Southpaw, though. Just… stuck.” He sliced his hand through the air—a violent swipe. The gesture made no sense even in context. David understood it perfectly. “Maybe one day Southpaw will be like Tommy, but… eh, I’d like to think he will. Maybe. He ain’t one of mine, though. So I guess we just gotta make sure he don’t go screwin’ stuff up for the rest of us.”</p><p>“And York?” David asked.</p><p>“Gotta wait and see,” Jack said. “The shit part about bein’ in charge is that you’re in charge of everyone. Even the ones that hate your guts.”</p><p>“So you always have to be the bigger person?”</p><p>“Something like that.” Jack leaned his head back against the wall. “Really hate this part, though.”</p><p>David nodded. “Me too.”</p><p>Jack smiled sadly. “Sometimes it’s worth it though. Can’t tell you how proud I was the first time Tommy went and soaked a guy for sayin’ somethin’ he would’ve said before. And sometimes I get to see you rip a guy to shreds without liftin’ a hand, so I’d like to think it evens out.”</p><p>David smirked and ducked his head. “I thought you didn’t like me doing it?”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Jack said quickly. “I don’t. But… well, Spot’s face was pretty good.”</p><p>“I didn’t even see his face.”</p><p>“Can’t have that,” Jack said. “It was sorta like this…”</p><p>He widened his eyes until they were practically circles. He dropped his mouth open so wide his chin practically touched his neck.</p><p>David snorted and giggled. “He did <em>not.</em>”</p><p>Jack’s face snapped back to a cheeky grin. “Though you didn’t see?”</p><p>“Thought you knew I wasn’t an idiot,” David said through his laughter.</p><p>Jack laughed too. “Fine, fine, you got me. It was pretty good though. Don’t think he thought you had it in you.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> didn’t know I had it in me,” David pointed out.</p><p>“I did,” Jack said.</p><p>Something warm bloomed in David’s chest. He couldn’t quite identify it—he knew his only guess was wrong. He pushed the thought away.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asked.</p><p>“You’re my VP, aint’cha?”</p><p>David smiled back. “Yeah, I am.”</p><p>Jack’s smile turned softer, so fond it was hard to look at directly. David remembered a day months that felt like years ago, standing at the foot of the World’s head office, seeing him stand on the balcony, shining so bright David couldn’t look away and needed to all the same. Maybe it was something inherent in Jack’s person—like his ability to draw a smile out of the dourest person, like the way he looked at the world and saw past the billows of smoke to see the sky, and like how he made David want to try and be the person Jack saw in him. How many people had seen that light and tried to smother it? How could anyone see it and not want it to burn bright?</p><p>Jack had something special in him. It was something that made David feel warm just for being in Jack's presence. It was something that David could only try to understand even though he knew he never would.</p><p>“Jack?” David asked. “How did you know? That it was going to work with Tommy?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “I didn’t. Just had to try. He was… I don’t know. He’s one of mine, I guess. Gotta save who you can.”</p><p>”That’s kind of dramatic.”</p><p>“Yeah. I guess it’s just… I had to try.”</p><p>Whatever the warm feeling was, it grew warmer. “That’s it?”</p><p>He shrugged again. “Sure.”</p><p>Oh: admiration. That’s what it was.</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “You’re a really good person, Jack.”</p><p>Jack’s cheeks flared red. “Shut up,” he said. He pushed himself up. “Come on. We gotta get back. Mush is gonna send a search team if we show up late.”</p><p>He offered David a hand. David took it gladly—his knees still stung from his earlier fall.</p><p>Jack must have noticed his unsteadiness, because he asked: “You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” David said, brushing the dirt off his clothes.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>He was sure. He’d had enough of Jack’s frowns for the day.</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about me, Jack.”</p><p>Jack’s grin went playful. “I do what I want, remember Davey?”</p><p>“How could I forget.” he drawled. “I’m fine though. My knees are just sore after sitting for so long in the cold.”</p><p>Jack tutted and wagged his finger. “Sounding old there, Davey. Remember, you’re turning seventeen not seventy.”</p><p>David looked over, startled, “What?”</p><p>“You think I forgot, Davey?” Jack asked, hand flying up to his chest. “You think I’d forget my VP’s birthday?”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “Did Les rat me out?”</p><p>“Hey, <em>I</em> remembered,” Jack said. “But Les ratted you out to everyone else.”</p><p>David snorted and shook his head. “Well at least it’s out now and you won’t have to explain to everyone why we’re going home right after selling that day.”</p><p>“Sure, Davey”</p><p>The wry tone was unexpected. David sent Jack a look. His expression was absolutely neutral and deeply suspect.</p><p>“What?” David demanded.</p><p>Jack’s lip twitched. “Nothin’!”</p><p>David narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Jack…”</p><p>“It’s nothin’, Davey,” Jack said again, this time punctuating the remark by clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t go getting’ all worked up. We got a long walk back.”</p><p>“Right. That’s plenty of time to interrogate you.”</p><p>“Hey now–”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>They both looked up at the call.</p><p>At the mouth of the alley was a kid—very short and bulky. “Been lookin’ everywhere for you, you shit!”</p><p>“Ah. Raf.” David looked over to Jack. He was securing his cap on again, but the motion did little to hide how red his cheeks were going. “Hi.”</p><p>The small figure ran towards them. David had one moment to identify her as a Brooklyn newsie by the red vest and skirt peeking out of her large coat, and a second moment to identify her as Rafaela by the curly dark hair pulled back with a wide scarf, before she launched herself at Jack.</p><p>Jack caught her easily, hugging her back just as tight as she was holding him, the two talking quietly together.</p><p>It took David another moment to realize they were talking in Spanish.</p><p>The warmth of admiration started burning again.</p><p>After a few moments they separated. Jack ruffled her hair—or, well, he would have. As it was he moved her scarf back and forth. She punched him in the arm. He laughed and slung his arm over her shoulders.</p><p>“Hey Davey, you know Raf?”</p><p>“Only in passing,” David said. He offered her his hand. “It’s nice to be properly introduced, Rafaela.”</p><p>She raised a brow and took it, grip firm. “Same here, <em>Davey,</em>” she said, drawing his name out long.</p><p>David blushed despite himself—something about her dark assessing look and the quirk of her brow.</p><p>“Alright you pest,” Jack said, shaking her. “That all you wanted?”</p><p>She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Yeah. And, uh…” her eyes flicked over to David again. “Thanks. For goin’ at York like that. I was set to soak him but I think your way worked better.”</p><p>Jack laughed. “My brave defenders.”</p><p>“You know it,” Raf said, elbowing him in the side. “I gotta get back. Spot’ll be lookin’ for me.”</p><p>“Oh, Spot’ll be lookin’, huh?”</p><p>She punched his arm again, this time hissing something in Spanish that David did not understand but sounded fantastically rude.</p><p>Jack’s cackle confirmed his suspicions. “Fine. See ya ‘round Raf.”</p><p>“See ya Jack,” she said. Then she nodded at David with an odd amount of respect and said: “Bye Davey.”</p><p>“Goodbye,” David said, still feeling a little caught.</p><p>She sped off and away.</p><p>Jack snorted and shook his head, watching after her. “Keep tellin’ her she oughta start racin’ but she don’t listen. Think she could run at Sheepshead so long as she looked out for hooves.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David agreed, voice faint even to his ears. “You can speak Spanish?”</p><p>Jack looked over at him. “A bit. Thought I told ya?”</p><p>David shook his head. “You said your mother was Cuban. I just didn’t realize that meant…”</p><p>Jack shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s like you and all your words.”</p><p>David shrugged back. “Not necessarily. I mean, Les can’t speak Russian and Sarah’s is pretty rough around the edges and Mama’s family is almost more Russian than Polish.”</p><p>“Fair,” Jack conceded. “I mean… I only speak a bit. Raf must’ve been feelin’ bad for me ‘cause she usually makes fun of me with all the words I still mix up. I used to speak it lots when I was–” he cut himself off with a shrug “–a long time ago. Stopped for a while but Finch started helpin’ me get it back so’s I can talk to the new kids better.”</p><p>“Oh.” David said. “That’s good.”</p><p>Jack looked at him oddly. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing!” he said quickly. “It's really impressive, is all. I was never able to get my head around Spanish.”</p><p>“Maybe you just had shit teachers,” Jack said. “I, uh, I could try and teach you some?”</p><p>“Sure,” David said. “Like what?”</p><p>Jack smirked. “Depends on what you wanna tell me.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes at the expression, but, just like that, he felt settled again in their usual pattern of conversation. “If you don’t stop giving me that face it’s not gonna be very polite.”</p><p>“Ugh, fine,” Jack said. “C’mon then.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” David said. He thought through the various greetings and sentences he usually ran through. None of them suited the moment thought. “How about ‘I care about you’?”</p><p>Jack’s eyes went wide. “Really?”</p><p>David couldn’t blame him for being surprised. He was a little surprised at himself too.</p><p>“Apparently you need reminding,” he defended.</p><p>Jack just looked at him, the same heavy look as before. Finally he said: “Te quiero.”</p><p>David thought it over carefully, trying to map out the emphasis and pronunciation in his mind, then, carefully, repeated: “Te quiero.”</p><p>Jack snorted loudly.</p><p>David’s face felt very hot. “It wasn’t <em>that</em> bad!”</p><p>“You really <em>do</em> have a shit accent!” Jack said through his laughter.</p><p>David’s cheeks hurt from smiling and burning with embarrassment. “Shut up! I don’t understand how you can go from ‘I’m Jack Kelly and I drop my r’s ev’ry second I can” to <em>rolling them.</em>”</p><p>Jack was barely standing; he was laughing so hard. He leaned back against the wall, tears streaming down his red face. David worked very hard to keep his composure while Jack tried to regain his.</p><p>After a few minutes, Jack had reduced his mirth down to occasional giggles and was wiping the tears away.</p><p>“You done?” David still checked.</p><p>“Don’t know.” Jack said, “You done being all snippy?”</p><p>“No,” he said, crossing his arms. “No, not even close.”</p><p>“Not my fault you can’t–” he snorted again, “<em>shit,</em> Davey, I can’t even name all the ways that was wrong. That was just <em>bad.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” David said with no heat. “Well, now you have to say something in Yiddish.”</p><p>“What?” Jack protested. “Why?”</p><p>“It’s only fair.” David pointed out.</p><p>“Ah, tit for tat, huh?”</p><p>“Oh, you–”</p><p>Jack laughed at David’s ire.</p><p>Ever since Race had taught Les the phrase, he’d been using it endlessly. The very words made David want to scream. Jack knew this. He used every opportunity to abuse the knowledge because Jack was an asshole.</p><p>“Just for that I might change it to Russian,” David warned.</p><p>“Don’t. Nope. No need for that, Davey,” Jack said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll take my small mercies, thanks. Alright, shoot.”</p><p>David grinned. “Chutzpah.”</p><p>Jack looked at him blankly. Then he punched him in the arm. “You <em>bastard.</em>”</p><p>David’s laughter echoed on the brick walls, bouncing up to the pale grey sky above them, carried away on the wind, louder than the rush of the river and the sound of the city beyond them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Nem zich a vaneh aun dertrinken: Go jump in the lake and drown [Yiddish]<br/>Te quiero: I care about you [Spanish] (this is a rough translation. Best I understand it it’s between “I like you” and “I love you”.)<br/>Chutzpah: insolence, cheek, or audacity, meaning varies pretty dramatically depending on the culture/context it’s used in [Yiddish, ḥuṣpāh (חֻצְפָּה)] (and, no, David did not use the anglicized pronunciation that developed when it became a Yiddishism. He is, as Jack rightly points out, a bastard.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Пороша: November 14, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After all the emotional ups and downs in life and in the last few chapters, please take this pile of fluff as a token of my gratitude for continuing to be the most wonderful readers I could ever ask for.<br/>Seriously folks, this thing is stupidly long and ridiculously cheerful.</p><p>Chapter specific warnings: Okay, there’s one moment of implied/referenced classism/anti-polish sentiment. And more references of David and Sarah’s Terrible First Grade Experiences. Other than that things are swell.</p><p>Translations (and historically accurate cookie recipe) in the endnotes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Пороша</strong> (Porosha) <em>n.</em> fresh powdery snow that fell at night [Russian, no direct English translation]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>November 14, 1899</strong>
</p><p>Much to David’s surprise, Katherine and Jack were waiting with Sarah and Les.</p><p>They were bundled up tight and tight together to ward off the steadily increasing chill. Katherine and Sarah were pressed close, plum and dark blue coats brushing against each other, the brims of their hats bumping as they leaned together to talk. Jack had even deigned to wear a sturdy coat and—David hoped—an extra flannel. He wasn’t wearing a scarf, though. Les was wearing it. Because he had refused to grab his that morning. Again.</p><p>David rolled his eyes; he was going to have to start packing an extra scarf in his bag at this rate.</p><p>It was a dreary day—the clouds above were heavy and grey, moving en-masse across the sky in the strong wind—but they seemed in high spirits. Katherine and Jack were waiting with Sarah and Les. Katherine was explaining something in a dramatic manner, her expression changing almost as rapidly as her hands were moving. Sarah was listening attentively. She was also laughing behind her hand. Jack was not, but that was because Jack appeared to be listening to Les, who was pointing at the building across the way. He was probably telling Jack about how Ada once threw a snowball with such force it soared over the school, hit the side of the building, and stuck. David had heard the story many, many, times. Les seemed eager to have a new audience. Jack was listening eagerly. The closer David drew to the group though, the more he recognized the indulgent slant to Jack’s smile. He was glad to see that Jack hadn’t really been pulled in by Les’s exaggeration. Sarah had told David that Ada <em>had</em> hit the building, but she’d done so by darting out of the school boundaries before anyone saw. Well, Sarah had seen, but she thought it was funny enough that she let her get away with the breach.She also happily let her continue to con their little brother.</p><p>As he hurried across the street, David debated for a moment whether to go through with it, but… well, tradition was tradition.</p><p>“Hello, you two,” he said as he approached them. He turned to his sister and squinted. “And who is this?”</p><p>“Oh no,” Les muttered.</p><p>“Um…” Jack said. He sounded very concerned. David tried not to feel too proud of himself. “you okay Davey?”</p><p>“Oh, so <em>you’re</em> Davey?” Sarah said, nodding slowly. “Jack here has been telling me all about you. Endlessly.”</p><p>“What?” Jack’s voice was oddly high. “No! I haven’t!”</p><p>“Has he?” David said mildly. “Well, I hope I live up to the stories. He offered his hand. “And it’s David.”</p><p>“How funny!” Sarah said, tacking on an airy giggle a half-moment too late. “My brother’s name is David. We’re waiting for him to arrive.”</p><p>David blinked and reeled back in shock. “What a coincidence. I’m supposed to meet my sister here too!”</p><p>Les put his face with his hands.</p><p>“I am very confused,” Katherine announced.</p><p>Jack, meanwhile, just looked between David and his sister. His eyes were narrowed. His brows were furrowed. His mouth was moving but he did not make a sound. It was like he was trying to form questions but there were too many to pick just one.</p><p>Sarah gestured to the divot in the dirt. “You are welcome to wait with us until your sister arrives.”</p><p>He nodded. “Thank you.”</p><p>“And what is your sister’s name?”</p><p>“Sarah.”</p><p>“Why, that’s my name!”</p><p>“What is happening!?” Jack whisper-shouted.</p><p>“Just wait,” Les said into his hands.</p><p>Sarah pursed her lips to hide a smile. And winked.</p><p>David pressed down on his own grin. Yeah, it was probably time to wrap this up.</p><p>“You know,” David offered, “you sort of look like my sister.”</p><p>“And you like my brother,” she returned, stepping forward “but twice his age.”</p><p>“Hmm?” David tilted his head, observing, “Is that so?”</p><p>“He’s also less gullible,” Sarah said, and with that she jumped on his back.</p><p>“SARAH!” he yelled, stumbling. “OFF!”</p><p>“NEVER!” she shouted into his ear. “VENGEANCE IS MINE!”</p><p>“What is this for?” He heard Katherine asked politely and he tried to regain his footing and pry Sarah off.</p><p>“David pinned her last year,” Les explained.</p><p>“Ah,” Katherine said. “Do they do this every year?”</p><p>“It varies,” Les said. “At least this time they didn’t do accents.”</p><p>“Oh, toss it all!” Sarah said in her best horrible impression of a British aristocrat. “How could we forget?”</p><p>Katherine giggled.</p><p>“Right,” Jack said. His voice was much closer than before.</p><p>A shriek in his ear was the only warning David got before he was released from his sister’s clutches, stumbling at the sudden loss of her weight.</p><p>He righted himself and looked to see that Jack now held her tight against him, arms pinned to her sides, toes barely touching the ground. “Looked like you needed some help.”</p><p>“Much obliged,” he said, gasping for breath. “Happy birthday, Sarah.”</p><p>“Happy birthday David,” She replied evenly, as she struggled in Jack’s arms.</p><p>“Why does this always have to be such an ordeal?” Les asked.</p><p>“<em>Ordeal?</em>” Sarah repeated. She whacked her hand against Jack’s leg. “Alright, release. I won’t–” Jack set her down. “Thank you. <em>Ordeal?</em> David!”</p><p>“Wasn’t me,” David said.</p><p>“I read!” Les whined.</p><p>“You know, I seem to recall saying that in my last article…” Katherine put in.</p><p>Les went very red.</p><p>David grinned. “Did you now?”</p><p>Les groaned. “No! I didn’t–”
</p><p>Jack ruffled Les’s hair, smiling ruefully. “Shortstack, I don’t think you can get outa this.”</p><p>Sarah's beaming grin confirmed Jack’s assessment. “Les, you were supposed to wait until tonight to give me my present. Mama and Tata are going to be so disappointed.”</p><p>Les threw his head back and groaned.</p><p>“There there,” David said, playing with the brim of his brother’s hat.</p><p>Les swatted him away. “It’s not my fault you always read them! It was inevitable!”</p><p>“Maybe,” David allowed, “but memorizing them? That is quite impressive. It shows that you care very much.”</p><p>Les swatted him again. “You’re the worst.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” Sarah said. “I’m his favourite.”</p><p>“Jack’s my favourite,” Les said.</p><p>“Not Kathy?” Jack asked.</p><p>“I take it back,” Les said, “I hate you all.”</p><p>“Alright,” Jack said, laughing, “we’ll drop it but only ‘cause we gotta get you all home to change. We’re losin’ Davey’s head start. How the hell did you get over here so quick, anyways?”</p><p>“It’s Tuesday,” Sarah said, starting them on their walk home. “He has Latin last on Tuesdays.”</p><p>“Good ol’ Mrs. A,” Jack said. “I like that woman.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “I’ll let her know she’s earned your approval.”</p><p>“Much obliged, Davey,” Jack said.</p><p>They fell into step—Sarah and Katherine ahead, Jack and Davey behind, with Les going between the two pairs or going in front to allow other pedestrians to pass. They were all close enough that they could easily continue talking.</p><p>“Not that I’m not glad you see you both,” David said, “but why are you here?”</p><p>Katherine turned back enough to let him see her smile. “I’m kidnapping your sister while you’re selling.”</p><p>David laughed quietly, little puffs forming in the air in front of him. “Thank you for telling me. Should I alert the authorities now or later?”</p><p>“Give me a head start!” Katherine demanded.</p><p>“If you insist. Jack?”</p><p>“I walked Katherine over,” he said easily.</p><p>David narrowed his eyes. “And you stayed because…?”</p><p>“Can’t I want to see my partner?” Jack asked, voice high.</p><p>“I’m not against it,” David assured him. “We’ll have to run to grab our papes, though.”</p><p>“Nah. Race is gonna get ‘em for us. He’s meetin’ us in our usual spot. He’s gonna sell with Les today.”</p><p>Well that was interesting. “Did he say why?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Want to get ‘em sold fast. You know. It’s cold. Don’t wanna take all evenin’. And we gotta get you home in time.”</p><p>“That’s good of him. Is the headline that bad today?”</p><p>“Headlines don’t sell papes!” Les recited cheerfully. “Newsies sell papes!”</p><p>Jack laughed. “That’s right, shortstack. Headlines sure help, though. But we’re lucky! There was a horse show that was real damn fancy. And ol’ Joe even forked out the cash to get sketches done of the folks in the crowd. They sold like hotcakes this mornin’ and me and Crutchie managed to come up with some good spins on the other stories. Race said he got a few things up his sleeve for him and Les, too.”</p><p>“Funny thing about those drawings,” Katherine said innocently, “is that a few of them looked quite familiar.”</p><p>Jack’s cheeks and ears were already chafed by the wind. They grew redder. “<em>Katherine.</em>”</p><p>“You got on the front page?” Sarah asked. She turned back to beam at him. “Congratulations!”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said.</p><p>“That’s really impressive, Jack,” David said.</p><p>Jack ducked his head, smiling. “You should probably wait till you see ‘em before you start sayin’ that.”</p><p>“I look forward to it,” David said easily. “Now are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”</p><p>Jack huffed. “Can’t get nothin’ past you, huh?”</p><p>“It’s not like you’re being subtle.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Jack, we didn’t prepare for the strike as much as you’ve apparently prepared for this evening.”</p><p>Katherine snorted.</p><p>Jack, interestingly, pushed her between the shoulders. She giggled as she stumbled.</p><p>Sarah looked over at her now, too. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing!” Katherine insisted. “Come on, let’s pick up the pace slowpokes!”</p><p>She grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her around the turn to Baxter Street.</p><p>“Jack?” David asked.</p><p>“Davey.” Jack answered.</p><p>“What are you up to?”</p><p>“Nothin’… <em>bad.</em>”</p><p>David sighed. “That’s all I’m getting out of you, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yep!” Jack said, popping the p.</p><p>“What did I do to deserve this?” David inquired of the world.</p><p>“Started a strike,” Les offered up. “Led a strike. Won the strike. Established a union. Still haven’t abandoned ship. This is definitely your fault”</p><p>“Thanks, Les.”</p><p>”My pleasure.”</p><p>..........</p><p>“May I have <em>two. Papers?</em>” She pronounced the words very carefully, holding up two fingers with one hand and pointing at the papers with her other.</p><p>David gritted his teeth, turned it into a smile, and said, in an accent more American than Roosevelt: “Sure, Miss. That’ll be two cents.”</p><p>Her demeaning smile dropped into a frown of absolute confusion. Thankfully, she still had enough of her mind about her to give him two pennies.</p><p>He held out the two papers, still grinning. “Thank you for your business. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”</p><p>She took them, still looking at him in confusion. It was better than her friend, who was looking at him like he’d just pulled a nasty trick. They both walked away without another word. Or, rather, without another word to him; they leaned in and started to whisper furtively as soon as they were out of earshot.</p><p>He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.</p><p>You speak Polish in public for maybe half a second and suddenly people think you’re fresh off the fucking boat.</p><p>The girl he’d been helping out—Hanna, she’d said, holding out her small hand—had actually been a wonderful conversationalist. Just not in English. So the joke was on them.</p><p>He released the breath slowly and opened his eyes. He checked his bag to see… okay, yeah, he was down to fifteen.</p><p>He slung his satchel back around and stuffed his hands into his pocket as he made his way over to Jack.</p><p>When Jack and David first started to sell together, they had to iron out a lot of differences. They each brought their own idiosyncrasies to the bargaining table. David refused to lie, which Jack found ridiculous. Jack refused to sell in a consistent spot, which David found ridiculous. They both refused to re-split the papers during the day, even as they both thought the other was being ridiculous for refusing to re-split the papers when they had already sold all of theirs.</p><p>As they settled into their partnership, their hard lines were weathered down by time. They figured out how to navigate each other’s boundaries. Jack got more creative in spinning stories, expertly weaving tales adjacent to the headline while never actually tangling the truth. David learned how to navigate the various locations, alternating between a ‘Hattan drawl, careful phrasing, and the slip of a Yiddish or Polish accent based on the crowds that approached. As Jack realized that he wasn’t a wanted criminal, they didn’t move around as much. As David realized that the people buying papers were disrespecting his friend, he didn’t feel so bad about Jack lying to their face. And they both decided to check in when they were down to their last fifteen so that they could re-split their papers and decide if it was a day to sell some back.</p><p>Most of the time they just ended up selling the last thirty together, talking about Union business or just talking. David teased Jack about his spins— “Really toeing the line today, aren’t you?” “I am an <em>artist,</em> Davey! I’m sharin’ my gift to the world. And here you are–” “Oh, I’m sorry, am I stifling your creativity?” “I can’t work with these constraints!” “You’ve been hanging around Medda too much.” “No such thing!”. Jack teased David about his accent—“Getting’ pretty aggressive with those r’s there, Davey.” “<em>Sorry,</em> Jack. Should I just stop droppin’ ‘em?” “David Jacobs, are you–” “I would neva’ tease ya.” “That was almost bad as Race’s, Davey.” “Why I neva’!”. The last thirty papers were slow to sell.</p><p>David had some suspicion that would not be the case today.</p><p>David caught sight of his selling partner through the crowds. He’d tipped his hat back further at some point. His curls no longer brushed his brow, but instead fluttered in the cool wind. His cheeks and nose were ruddy, his ears more so, and his collar was flipped up against the chill. Despite that, he looked as he always looked; at ease. Selling was Jack’s domain. His kingdom. He stood on the corner of the street, waving a paper like it was his banner. Perhaps passersby saw a newsboy. David could only see a leader.</p><p>“MADAME MAKES MAGIC! FRENCH ACTRESS STUNS AUDIENCE! FIRST RECORDED PICTURE OF HER BEAUTY! GET IT RIGHT HERE, FOLKS!”</p><p>Yep. He was in his element alright.</p><p>David shook his head and did not bother to hide his grin as he approached.</p><p>Jack caught sight of him as he handed a paper off to a very short old man.</p><p>“Hiya, Davey,” he said with a little wave. “You on the last bunch?”</p><p>“Yep. You?”</p><p>“Down to five.”</p><p>David frowned. “Why didn’t you–”</p><p>“There was a crowd just now,” Jack defended. “I was gonna come over! You just saved me the trouble. Okay, gimme five.”</p><p>“Alright,” David said, reaching into his satchel and handing them over. “You were right. They’re selling fast today.”</p><p>“Not fast enough,” Jack grumbled. “Sold faster this mornin’.”</p><p>“I find that hard to believe. Maybe– DUKE ASTONISHED. PROMINENCE PARADED. GET YOUR PICTURES OF THE HORSE SHOW RIGHT HERE –maybe it just felt like it went faster.”</p><p>Jack ignored him. He raised a paper high, yelling: “HELD AT GUNPOINT, TERRIFIED WOMAN FORCED TO GIVE UP LIFE SAVINGS!”</p><p>“Oh, goodness!” said a woman passing by. She hurried over, followed dutifully by the man accompanying her—though that could just be because she pulled him along too. “Did you hear that, darling? How dreadful!”</p><p>“The violence really is too much.” Her companion agreed. He deposited a penny into Jack’s open hand. “I don’t know what this city is coming to.”</p><p>Jack handed over the paper with a morose shake of his head. “Nothin’ good, Mister. Nothin’ good.”</p><p>They set off, the paper tucked under the man’s left arm while the woman clutched nervously to his right elbow.</p><p>“So…” David drawled. “How long do you think it will take until they realize that the robbery took place in New Jersey.”</p><p>“Don’t you use that tone with me, young man,” Jack said sternly, wagging his finger. “I said not a word of a lie there.”</p><p>“You didn’t,” David agreed. He sighed. “That was impressive.”</p><p>Jack beamed. “What was that?”</p><p>David swatted him with his paper. “I’m not saying it again.”</p><p>“Fine, fine.” Jack pulled another paper out of his bag as a group of women made their way across the street, then yelled: “WOMAN HELD AT GUNPOINT! VIOLENT THEIVES ON THE LOOSE!”</p><p>They were swarmed. Those who couldn’t reach him came over to Davey. The crowd dispersed. Both of their bags were significantly lighter.</p><p>“<em>Jack,</em>” David said, voice edged with amusement. “That might have been a bit much.”</p><p>“Nah,” Jack said. “Hey, take those over to that block there.” He jerked his thumb to the left. “The canning place should’a finished up now so there’ll be a crowd–”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “<em>Or</em> I could just go back to the corner I was on and catch them the next block over.”</p><p>“But if you go there it’ll be faster!”</p><p>“By maybe a minute!” David said.</p><p>“Yeah! Faster!”</p><p>“I only have–” he paused to count “–seven left! What has gotten into you today?”</p><p>“Nothing!” Jack said quickly.</p><p>David shook his head in mock disappointment. “And you say I’m a bad liar.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Jack groaned.</p><p>“How dare you. And on my birthday…”</p><p>“Do you lie awake at night thinkin’ up all this sass?”</p><p>“Of course not, Jack. It just comes naturally.”</p><p>“I know. Now shoo! We gotta sell these!”</p><p>“You’ve turned into a dreadful capitalist. Maybe you’re spending too much time in the office.”</p><p>“<em>Davey.</em>”</p><p>David rolled his eyes, but was already putting his paper away, ready to oblige.</p><p>Before he did, though, he had to ask: “Do you have a clock going somewhere? Are you trying for a new record?”</p><p>Jack frowned dramatically in the way he did when he was trying not to smile. “Get goin’!”</p><p>David saluted. “Aye aye, Mr. President.”</p><p>He barely caught the rush from the canning factory. Not many wanted to buy, unfortunately, instead nodding absently at him as they stumbled past. It took another three crowds for him to finish. He rubbed his hands together, breathing on them to try and stop the stinging. Then he stuffed his hands into his pockets and went to split the take.</p><p>As he got closer, he realized that Jack wasn’t alone anymore. Les and Race were there, too, having finished selling themselves. Katherine and Sarah had also returned from wherever it was they’d gone. The two of them were listening with visible bemusement at the story Les and Race were spinning.Jack was leaning back against the building, arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously, feet scuffing the pavement, going between looking out at the street before him, and over at the group.</p><p>None of them were looking in his direction.</p><p>David smiled to himself. What a wonderful opportunity.</p><p>He turned the corner and walked down a few yards, before he cut across the street.</p><p>He was quiet as he walked towards the corner, sticking close to the side of the building.</p><p>As he reached the corner, Jack stepped out further, looking down towards where David had been selling.</p><p>David stepped up right beside him. “What are you looking at?”</p><p>Jack jumped with a yelp. “DAVEY!”</p><p>David cackled and leaped back as Jack turned to grab him.</p><p>“You–” Jack lunged again “–sneaky–” David was too slow this time, and Jack pulled him into a headlock “–little–” Jack knocked his cap off and grinded his knuckles into David’s head “–son of a–”</p><p>“Definitely not little,” David pointed out through his laughter and struggling.</p><p>“Nice once, Davey!” Race cheered.</p><p>“You shut up,” Jack said. He released David and shoved him away. “You ass!”</p><p>David scooped up his cap and brushed it off, “I saw an opportunity and I took it. I will not apologize for ingenuity.”</p><p>“<em>Ingenuity.</em>” Race said. “Like that one.”</p><p>David laughed and pulled his cap over his hair, not bothering to fix it up. “That’s the word of the day, then?”</p><p>“Nah. I know that one,” Race said, wagging his finger. “Forgot it, but I know it. I’ll come up with one later.”</p><p>“Be quick about it.”</p><p>He felt Les deposit the change into his hand and realized he’d held it out automatically. Judging by Les’s absent expression, he’d done the same. David held his other hand out to Jack, who needed no other reminder. With the day’s coins in hand, he began splitting the take.</p><p>“Why do I gotta do it quick?” Race asked. “We got all night.”</p><p>David passed Jack his share, and said: “You might. <em>We</em> do not.”</p><p>“Mama does not tolerate late guests,” Sarah added in, “even if they are guests of honour.”</p><p>“<em>Guests of honour</em> might be pushing it a bit.”</p><p>“I stand by my statement.”</p><p>Katherine interrupted before David could counter: “I’m sure your mother won't mind if you’re a few minutes late.”</p><p>Sarah snorted.</p><p>“What she said,” David agreed.</p><p>“But… uh…” Race paused. He crossed his arms, he looked up and around, he tapped his foot. He did all manner of motions that David immediately interpreted as <em>plotting</em>.</p><p>“Don’t even try it,” David said preemptively—no idea what he might try, of course, but wary of it all the same.</p><p>“Ignore him,” Jack advised. “Listen to Kathy, though. Your Ma’ll understand if you guys are a bit late. It’s cold. Just come on back with us to the lodging house, warm up a bit, say hi to everybody, then head on back home.”</p><p>“No need. Our building is only a little farther from here than the lodging house,” Sarah pointed out.</p><p>David nodded. “It isn’t a long walk home from here. We’ll be fine. And we couldn’t put Mr. Kloppman out.”</p><p>Race groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. It was dramatic but true to form. Race had somehow gotten the impression that David was self-sacrificial and would not let him volunteer to order water from Jacobi without thinking it was some sort of, as Race described it, “dumbass attempt at martyring himself”. Any action deemed too self-abdicating was not to be tolerated.</p><p>Out loud, though, all Race said was: “But what about my word?”</p><p>David laughed at the whiny quality to the boy’s voice. “You said I could give it to you later. Later will just have to be tomorrow.”</p><p>“But…” Jack said, looking around at the group, “but… uh… I had some stuff to show you about Union things.”</p><p>“The next meeting isn’t until next <em>month,</em>” David reminded him.</p><p>“We gotta tell the others about the plan ahead of time!” Jack said.</p><p>“I did?” David was going to have to talk to Crutchie about whether Jack was sleeping enough; this was concerning. “Tommy and Mush delivered the letters to Hunter and Aggie yesterday. They both agreed to the terms of the meeting.”</p><p>Jack scrubbed his hands over his eyes—David was going to talk to Crutchie <em>as soon as possible.</em> “Right. You did. Because you’re a real great VP and the most organized person I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Try and say that with a little more warmth,” Sarah suggested.
</p><p>“I don’t mean– I just…” Jack sighed. “But– just… just gimme a second.”</p><p>David sighed. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He held it there until Jack looked up, his warm brown eyes—so confused and conflicted, and, yep, Les was selling with Jack tomorrow, because David and Crutchie were going to have a <em>chat</em>—meeting David’s.</p><p>“It can wait till tomorrow,” David assured him, voice soft. “I’ll be able to stay later then. But our parents will be waiting now.”</p><p>Jack still looked lost. David’s heart hurt at the sight, but… damn, it, he’d just have to sort it out tomorrow.</p><p>“Right.” Sarah clapped her hands. “We’re off! Les, come on.”</p><p>Les looked between Jack and David. Then he looked to Race. Then to Katherine, Then to Sarah. He looked almost as conflicted at Jack.</p><p>Then, in quick order, he smiled, frowned, and yelled. “Wait! Jack’s scarf!”</p><p>He took off like a shot.</p><p>“What– LES!” David yelled after him.</p><p>Les turned sharply around the corner.</p><p>Sarah glared at Race. “Where is he–”</p><p>“We stopped at the lodging house!” Race yelled. “He must have forgotten it there! Quick! He’s not bein’ careful about where he’s running!”</p><p>“For fucks– David groaned, then sprinted after his brother. “LES!”</p><p>It was still busy. The streets were tangled with carts and crowds. David stumbled to a stop as a truck passed in front of him. He pushed away the baseless fear that such a thing still drew. He looked to the side and– there. Les hurtled down the street and to the right.</p><p>Another block. Another corner. <em>Another</em> block. <em>Another</em> corner. Two blocks. He was getting closer– Les’s lead shrinking. He turned the corner and–</p><p>A group of women to his right—short, walking closely together. A hotdog cart to the left of them. Workers on the sidewalk to his left, blocking the way… wait what street was this?</p><p>“Reade street!” Sarah yelled, racing past him.</p><p>David huffed and followed.</p><p>They skittered between pedestrians and across roads, catching glimpses of their little brother through the sea of coats. They turned the familiar corner to Duane Street and saw the lodging house rise before them. They stopped on the corner and saw their brother run up the front steps, fling open the door, and dart inside.</p><p>“I–” Sarah said as they reached the door, “am going to kill him.”</p><p>“I’ll hold him down,” David promised.</p><p>She snorted, grabbed the handle with both hands and opened it. David charged in and–</p><p>Narrowly avoid running right into a person.</p><p>“Whoa!” Mr. Kloppman said, startling back.</p><p>“I am so sorry, sir.” David gasped.</p><p>Mr. Kloppman waved off the apology. “Guessing you’re here for your brother?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Sarah confirmed.</p><p>He smirked and jerked his thumb towards the back stairs “I think he went up.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” David said, “and we’re really very sorry–”</p><p>“He’s getting away,” Mr. Kloppman reminded him.</p><p>“Right, sorry!” David allowed his sister to yank him back to the chase.</p><p>They threw open the door and raced up the first flight of stairs.</p><p>“Here?” Sarah asked.</p><p>“Third,” David said.</p><p>They raced up the next flight. Then the next.</p><p>Les was leaning against the door on the third landing.</p><p>“Les!” Sarah huffed.</p><p>He tipped his head with an airy smile. “Yeah?”</p><p>“What–” David gasped for breath. “What were you <em>thinking?!</em>”</p><p>Les shrugged. “Well, I had to get you here somehow.”</p><p>David blinked. He took another deep breath. No, it wasn’t the lack of oxygen doing it.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“Hiya Davey,” Jack said, throwing his arm around David’s shoulders. David had no clue when he’d caught up.</p><p>“Hello Sarah,” Katherine said from the other side, her arm over Sarah’s shoulders.</p><p>“Happy birthday,” they chorused.</p><p>Les opened the door. Jack shoved David through. A bump to his side and high-pitched squeak told him Sarah followed soon after.</p><p>“FOR THEY’RE SOME JOLLY GOOD FELLOWS!”</p><p>David did not scream. His sister screamed. He yelled.</p><p>“FOR THEY’RE SOME JOLLY GOOD FELLOWS! FOR THEY’RE SOME JOLLY GOOD FELLOOOOOOOOOWS!”</p><p>Strong arms righted him, and Jack sang along to the next line directly in David’s ear: “WHICH NOBODY CAN DENY!”</p><p>“What?” David asked.</p><p>Instead of receiving an answer, Jack pulled him to the centre of the crowd. Two chairs had been set in the middle of the aisle. Jack guided him towards them, then—and David blamed his surprise on allowing him to do so—prodded him up and onto the chair.</p><p>“FOR SAYS ALL OF US! FOR SO SAYS ALL OF US!”</p><p>The newsies of lower Manhattan surrounded him, a sea of joy. Romeo, Finch, and Smalls were at the outer edge of the crowd, hanging over the edge of a top bunk to see over the others. Tommy and Elmer were hanging off the bed—literally, standing on the edge of the bottom bunk, leaning out, holding onto either post. Henry, Mush, Kid Blink, and Sniper were close to the center of the crowd, arms thrown over one another’s shoulders, swaying to the tune of the song. Specs and Buttons were beside them. Buttons was clapping—a little off tempo. Specs waved his hands to-and-fro, as though conducting. He was on tempo. Albert and JoJo and– yeah, Race was here too now, were bouncing up and down together, practically screaming the words. Crutchie stood at the very front, shit-eating grin in full force, banging on the floor with his crutch. Jack was beside him, smiling so wide it looked like he could barely sing. Katherine was beside him, under his arm. She was laughing too much to get a word out. And Les was there at the front, his voice soaring over the other’s, remarkably off-tune.</p><p>David looked beside him to where his sister stood on the other chair. She looked back at him. Her eyes were wide. Her hand was hovering in front of her mouth. Her shoulders shook with giggles.</p><p>“WHICH NOBODY CAN DENYYYYY!”</p><p>The last note turned to cheering, stomping, clapping, and a not small amount of laughter.</p><p>“You’re the worst people in the world!” David yelled over the noise.</p><p>“Ooo,” Katherine said, “Put a man up on a chair and suddenly he’s making sweeping proclamations.”</p><p>His cheeks hurt from smiling. “Shut up.”</p><p>“<em>Davey,</em>” Race gasped, “is that any way to speak to a lady?”</p><p>“Ha ha,” he said. He jumped down and offered his hand to his sister, who did the same. “I still don’t know what’s <em>happening.</em>”</p><p>“<em>David,</em>” Sarah sighed.</p><p>Jack hummed. “Thought it’d be pretty obvious by now, Davey.”</p><p>“But–” He looked around at the group, “but the birthday celebration isn’t until <em>next</em> week!”</p><p>Jack screwed up his face in confusion. “Who said that?”</p><p>“You did you–” a very cool feeling of comprehension and calm took David’s body. “You son of a–”</p><p>“Shhh!” Jack said, finger on his lips. “Not in front of Les!”</p><p>“Yeah!” Les said. “Not in front of me!”</p><p>“And <em>you.</em>” David turned on his brother. You <em>knew?</em>”</p><p>Les shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m a much better liar than you are.”</p><p>“But how–”</p><p>“Natural aptitude.”</p><p>“No, I <em>mean</em> how are we going to explain this to–”</p><p>“Mama and Tata know.”</p><p>“They <em>what?</em>”</p><p>“Did I forget to say?” Les frowned and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but supper will be a little late tonight.”</p><p>David sighed. “So everyone knew except me.”</p><p>“Sarah didn’t,” Katherine put in.</p><p>“I did not,” Sarah agreed, still wide-eyed.</p><p>“But…” David said, knowing he was grasping at straws, “but Henry–”</p><p>The newsie in question was smiling wide. “My birthday’s in February.”</p><p>David knew when he was beaten. He gave up with a defeated sigh.</p><p>“You’re the only November birthdays in Manhattan,” Race said, waltzing to his side. “Ain’t that special? Real twist of fate in our favour. There a word for that, Davey?”</p><p>“No,” he said quickly.</p><p>“See, you say no,” Race said, nudging him with his pointy elbow, “but your twitchiness and fast answerin’ says ‘why yes there is definitely a word for that Race o’ buddy o’ mine’. Come on. Tell me. Teeeeeeelll me.”</p><p>David opened his mouth to refute him. Then he closed it. Then he sighed. “You know, one of these days you’re going to ask me for a word and I won’t know it.”</p><p>“Happens to the best of us. Now,” Race put his hands on David’s shoulders, looking up at David through fluttering lashes, “what’s the word?”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “Serendipitous.”</p><p>Race raised his arms high, victorious. “Serendipitous! Birthday word for the birthday kids! FOR THEY’RE–”</p><p>Sarah held up her hand. “Please don’t. The forced plural was painful enough the first time.”</p><p>Race dropped his arms with a slump, mouth agape, eyes trying to bug out while his brows were trying to close in. In an instant he dropped the expression entirely, switching over to a cool amusement.</p><p>“You know,” he whispered loudly, as though letting David in on a secret while trying to make sure the Brooklyn newsies could hear it, “youse is similar lookin’ and all, but I don’t think I really believed she was your twin until this moment.”</p><p>“The shared birthday is a particularly convincing piece of evidence,” David agreed in the same loud whisper.</p><p>Race grinned wide as the room burst out laughing. “You’re a right shit, you know that, Davey?”</p><p>“Not in front of Les.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.” Race turned to Sarah and jerked his thumb towards him. “Hey, Sarah, to honour the occasion, would ya mind clearing up a mystery ‘bout your brother?”</p><p>Oh no. “A <em>mystery?</em>”</p><p>Sarah chuckled. “Oh, this should be good.”</p><p>“Right,” Race motioned for silence. Once achieved, he put his hands on his hips, put one foot forward, jerked his head up, and proclaimed his question: “How did Mr. David Jacobs Esquire–”</p><p>David rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Race, I <em>swear–</em>”</p><p>“–learn so many fancy words?”</p><p>David looked up at the other newsie. He held his odd pose. Then he turned to the suddenly quiet group of newsies, who were all looking at his sister with concerning intent. He followed their gaze.</p><p>Sarah raised one eyebrow. The room remained silent. She put her hands on her hips, put one foot forward, jerked her head up, and proclaimed her answer: “He read the dictionary.”</p><p>Race barked a laugh. “No, really.”</p><p>“Really,” Sarah said, not dropping the pose.</p><p>“<em>Really?</em>” One of the other boys called from the crowd.</p><p>David sighed and closed his eyes. “Really.”</p><p>Race laughed brightly and hauled him in for a side-long embrace. “That’s the best thing I ever heard. You read the <em>dictionary.</em>”</p><p>“It’s not like I read it like a book!” David defended, pushing Race off.</p><p>“Not <em>the</em> dictionary,” Sarah clarified. “<em>Every</em> dictionary. And there were a few evenings where you treated it like a true page turner–”</p><p>“Shut up,” David said.</p><p>“How rude,” Sarah huffed, pouting. “And on my birthday.”</p><p>“It’s my birthday too.”</p><p>“You’re not allowed to be rude to me on my birthday.”</p><p>“Well by that logic–”</p><p>“You know what,” Katherine interrupted. “I am getting the sense that if we let you continue on like this it is just going to continue on all night.”</p><p>David looked at his sister. His sister looked at him. They both looked at Katherine. “Fair.”</p><p>Katherine patted them both on the shoulder. “Thank you both for your honesty. Now. Do you want to continue this or do you want to take advantage of the fact that Mr. Jacobi—against all better judgement—likes us very much.”</p><p>A smile stretched across Sarah’s face. “You’re lying.”</p><p>“Is that my cue?” Specs asked. Without waiting for an answer, he lifted up a huge brown paper bag. “Fresh this mornin’. Apparently, he ‘burnt the batch’.”</p><p>Sarah laughed and made grabby fingers. “Yes please.”</p><p>Specs grinned wide, reached into the veritable sack, and tossed the cookie.</p><p>Sarah caught it out of the air and immediately took a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed as she chewed.</p><p>“Well I’m afraid Jacobi’ might be going blind,” she said after swallowing, “because these are the best things I’ve ever tasted.”</p><p>Specs laughed and grabbed one for himself. He nodded as he chewed and said: “I gotta agree with you there. Now, in the wise words of our VP, let’s do this in an orderly fashion…”</p><p>He was swarmed.</p><p>Once the cookies were dispersed, they settled themselves between two of the bunk beds. The month’s fund had apparently gone towards paying/bribing the lodging house matron, Miss Oliver, to make them hot chocolate before supper. Between the hot drinks, the spice in the cookies, the heat from the stove, and the sincere gratitude blooming in his chest, David felt warm in no time.</p><p>After drinks were had and cookies were finished and jokes were told, Sarah quite suddenly decided there should be dancing. Mush agreed immediately. He started a jaunty tune, David loosely recognized from the Bowery. He had a good voice, sweet and clear. Romeo jumped off the top bunk, offered his hand to Sarah, and the dance was off.</p><p>There was no real rhyme or reason to it. Some waltzed, some jigged, some two-stepped. There was a brief attempt at a polka. Sarah drew everyone she could up to the floor, spinning around and pairing people together. Blink pulled Sniper up for a turn, then passed her off artfully to Henry, who stumbled through the steps but had the brightest smile. Katherine spun around with Jack, the two making silly faces as they mouthed the words to each other. Then she spun around with Les, whose face was screwed up in concentration as he tried to recall the lessons imparted to him by their mother and—if David’s suspicions were right—Ada.</p><p>Sarah went from Race, who was surprisingly good if a little heavy on the flourishes, then to Jack, who was also surprisingly good if a little hesitant on the turns. At their goading and Sarah’s knowing grin, David agreed to show them how it was done. Jack and Race loudly complained that David was only good because they were twins and thus had spent whole lives practicing—Sarah pointed out the stupidity of such logic, so David didn’t have to. Instead, he just switched over to Katherine and flipped them both off every time he had a free hand.</p><p>Mush drew the last note out long, and the group applauded as David and Katherine bowed to one another.</p><p>“Well, Katherine,” Sarah asked as the clapping died down, “did <em>Davey</em> here sweep you off your feet?”</p><p>“You know he really did,” she said, punctuating her statement with a punch to his shoulder.</p><p>David made a face at her. “Is the tone of surprise really necessary?”</p><p>“Well, Davey, you see…” she paused, tapping her finger to her lip, “how should I put this?”</p><p>“You look like you got two left feet,” Mush said. “It’s surprisin’ enough to see ‘em in the right order. Seein’ you manage to use ‘em proper is a proper shock.”</p><p>“Ye of little faith,” David said.</p><p>He sat down on the bottom bunk of the two beds, which had been crowded well past their limits. The newsies had returned to spreading themselves between them—quite literally, as Les, Race, and Albert had created a veritable mattress of pillows on the floor between the bunks. Jack and Crutchie kindly scooted over so that David could wedge himself between him and Sarah, while Katherine sat on Sarah’s other side, leaning against the post at the foot of the bed, fanning herself.</p><p>“We got plenty of faith in you, Davey,” Jack countered. His face was still a little red from laughter and exertion, but it made his smile all the brighter. “We just don’t got a lot of faith in your feet.”</p><p>David hummed, pretending to consider the point. “And how does it feel knowing that you were wrong?”</p><p>“I still think you cheated.”</p><p>“You’re just afraid to admit that I’m the best dancer here.”</p><p>He laughed at the uproar that followed the statement.</p><p>“Booo,” Jack said, nudging his side with his elbow.</p><p>“Lies!” Race yelled.</p><p>“I think,” Sarah said over the hubbub, “that the lady should decide.”</p><p>Katherine hummed in consideration, mimicking David so pointedly that Sarah and Les snickered. “I think… I will concede Mr. Jacob’s point, but it is a very narrow margin of victory. Really, Les was better. He just doesn’t have your height advantage. Once he’s grown a bit, he’ll be… what was it he said?”</p><p>Jack laughed. “Batting away skirts.”</p><p>Sarah barked a startled laugh, then covered her mouth with her hand. “When did he say <em>that?</em>”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Les said quickly, “and I don’t think that will ever happen.” he groaned and collapsed back on the pillows. A few stray feathers floated up with the force of his flop. “I’m going to be puny for the rest of my life.”</p><p>Katherine laughed. “You’re not that puny. And you’re still young; you have plenty of time to grow.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>that</em> young,” Les protested. “I’m ten now!”</p><p>“Yes, practically a man,” Sarah drawled. “But I’m afraid if you’re anything like the birthday boy here you’re going to have to wait quite a while to start getting taller.”</p><p>Crutchie looked David up and down, then up and down again, then back to Sarah for confirmation. “This Davey?”</p><p>“David was <em>tiny</em> until he was fifteen,” her joking tone turned bitter, “and then he shot up almost two feet in one summer.”</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it if it’s too hard of a subject for you,” David teased.</p><p>“You shush or I’ll tell them about your trials in navigating two more feet of limbs. I bet they’d enjoy the step stool story.”</p><p>They absolutely would. They would also never let him live it down.</p><p>“Shutting up,” he said dutifully.</p><p>“Step stool story?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>Sarah winked. “I’ll tell you later.”</p><p>“And I,” David drawled, “might be inclined to tell Mama what happened to her blue skirt.”</p><p>Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t”</p><p>David raised his brow.</p><p>Sarah groaned loudly. “Fine.”</p><p>“Can <em>we</em> know what happened to the skirt?” Katherine asked.</p><p>“No,” Sarah said quickly.</p><p>“Stop teasin’ us with all these good gabs if youse is just gonna go and clam up!” Race moaned.</p><p>“Yeah,” Albert agreed. “Give us somethin’.”</p><p>Sarah rolled her eyes. “Please. You <em>want</em> to hear about the daily trials and tribulations of the Jacobs household?”</p><p>“Yes!” They all answered.</p><p>Sarah startled back. “Wow.”</p><p>“Well, you know,” Les said, sitting up with a grin, “it <em>is</em> tradition. “Mama and Tata always tell stories about them when they were little on their birthday.”</p><p>“Shortstack, you are a gift to the world,” Race proclaimed, his hand over his heart. “A shining gem of a lad. You heard your brother. You can’t go breaking tradition!”</p><p>“Thanks, Les,” David said.</p><p>“My pleasure.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Jack poked David’s cheek. “Inquiring minds want to know. What was little ol’ Davey like when he was little? I bet he was swell. Cute as a button.”</p><p>David batted his hand away. “Not a bit. You should be grateful you met me when you did.”</p><p>“Why?” Mush asked.</p><p>“Because I was incredibly obnoxious.”</p><p>Sarah pushed him over. He rocked to the side obligingly.</p><p>“You weren’t that bad.”</p><p>”Eh.”</p><p>You were basically the same as now.”</p><p>“I learned to have sense.”</p><p>“Debatable.”</p><p>“I learned to have <em>more</em> sense.”</p><p>“You always had a fair amount of sense. You learned to be quiet.”</p><p>“Davey was <em>loud?</em>” Race asked, the very idea making his eyes light up.</p><p>“He was never <em>loud.</em> It was more… you know, quiet and then, boom, chatterbox. And up until we started school pretty much every sentence out of his mouth when he started talking started with ‘why’ ‘what’ or ‘where’.” Sarah said.</p><p>Race nodded appreciatively. “Question everything.”</p><p>“But that <em>stopped</em> in school?” Specs asked.</p><p>“It sure did,” Sarah said bitterly.</p><p>“I thought school was supposed to be about learning,” Specs said.</p><p>“You’d think so, huh?”</p><p>David immediately turned on his sister. “Don’t.”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to!” she defended.</p><p>David raised a brow.</p><p>Sarah huffed and slumped in her chair. “She’s dead anyways.”</p><p>“And we don’t speak ill of the dead.”</p><p>“We also shouldn’t yell slurs at delivery boys and whack six-year-olds upside the head when they correctly point out that one <em>shouldn’t</em> do such a thing, and she happily shirked both of those so I don’t see why I should have to–”</p><p>“What the <em>fuck?</em>” Race exclaimed.</p><p>“Not in front of Les.” David and Sarah recited.</p><p>The group went silent.</p><p>“Well,” Mush said, “that was the most terrifying thing I’ve seen in my life.”</p><p>Les shrugged. “You get used to it.”</p><p>“Anyways,” Sarah said, cheeks pink. “David was sometimes chatty, very curious, and in all other matters pretty much the same as he is now except much tinier, except for his ears, which have always been this size and only started to look normal a few years ago-”</p><p>“I was very irritating.” David clarified.</p><p>“And we both know what that means, don’t we?” Sarah said.</p><p>She said it with the air she reserved for quoting her favourite pieces of poetry. David thought for a second, trying to place it.</p><p>When he did, he felt his face grow hot. “Oh my God.”</p><p>She cackled.</p><p>David chuckled despite himself at the noise. “I can’t believe you remember that.”</p><p>“I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I thought her head was going to <em>explode.</em>”</p><p>“I <em>know.</em> Why do you think I left so quickly?”</p><p>“Hey,” They startled to see the others looking at them with bemused expressions. Crutchie continued on, “Don’t keep us in the dark here while you go reminiscin’.”</p><p>“Yeah!” Les demanded. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>Sarah grinned widely, “Oh, have we not told you this one?”</p><p>“Wait, are you serious now? Not just teasin’ us again?”</p><p>“Please, Davey?”</p><p>David sighed. It was a silly story, yes, but, thankfully, that’s all it was. And… well, it was amusing to be reminded that at some point he had been some brash little kid—even if that was an obvious simplification.</p><p>For that reason, he covered his face and sounded his approval: “Yeah, go ahead.”</p><p>“So, we were… what, six?” David nodded into his hands. “Right, so: one morning we were walking to school when we passed Mrs. Westover. Back then the Westover’s had a habit of staying up late and enjoying themselves a bit too. Let’s just say this didn’t make them the sunniest people when day broke.”</p><p>She paused a beat as the newsies started laughing.</p><p>Sarah had always been a good storyteller. David wasn't sure if she picked up the skill from their father or if it was uniquely her own. He suspected it was a combination of the two. While she shared their father's joy over wordplay and dramatics, she had a propensity for voices and suspense that was all her won. It was a skill. It was a tallent. It was a gift.</p><p>She knew it too. It was obvious from the way she smirked as she pulled them in and along, taking full control of her domain.</p><p>“Now, we’d been chatting together because, you know, we were six. Mrs. Westover, though, found fault in this common practice. I brushed against her as we passed and she stumbled over like I’d pushed her with the strength of a grown man. When she righted herself from her pretend tumble, she started yelling at us for ‘making a racket at such an early hour’.” She said this in an overly-shrill mimic of Mrs. Westover’s already very shrill voice. She rolled her eyes and dropped back into her normal tone: “We weren’t of course. We had just been talking normally. Quiet even. She’d never cared for facts, though, so she started having a real go at us.”</p><p>“Not one for facts?” Jack whispered to David.</p><p>“Not if she doesn’t agree with them,” David whispered back.</p><p>“Shhh!” Race said to them both.</p><p>David rolled his eyes, but obligingly tuned back into the story he already knew by heart.</p><p>They’d apparently missed the part where David had tried to apologize only for Mrs. Westover to start having a go at him. They were just past the part where Sarah started yelling at her for yelling at David.</p><p>“Mrs. Westover did not like that, so she said–” Sarah proceeded to do the impression again “–‘You spoiled little brat! How dare you speak to me like that! You should be grateful that I have stopped you! If you were my daughter you wouldn’t even be going to school! School is no place for a girl! You’re just going to get knocked up and disgrace your family name!’”</p><p>David scowled at the memory. “She didn’t say that.”</p><p>Sarah rolled her eyes. “My apologies. She did not say that <em>exactly.</em> She said something much ruder which I will not say in front of our little brother.”</p><p>True. “Thank you.”</p><p>“What the–” Race swallowed the end of his sentence, “What?”</p><p>“She’s not a kind person,” Sarah said. “Anyways, so she kept going on and on, and showed no signs of stopping. But then <em>Davey</em> here–” David’s cheeks were already starting to burn “–pushed himself between us and said ‘that is not nice and it is not true. You’re just a cruel and small-minded woman who needs to make other people feel bad to feel good about yourself!’”</p><p>To properly convey this exclamation that David could only half-remember, Sarah had screwed her face into outrage. She practically yelled the words. Silence followed them.</p><p>Then: “No way!” Crutchie said, beaming.</p><p>“Atta boy, Davey!” Jack said.</p><p>“Stop,” David groaned, covering his face with his hands again. “I didn’t say that.”</p><p>“He did,” Sarah said.</p><p>He jabbed her with his elbow. “I didn’t say it like <em>that.</em>”</p><p>“He did,” Sarah said, jabbing him back.</p><p>He jabbed her again for good measure.</p><p>“You were a little knight in shining armour,” Race said, wiping away a non-existent tear.</p><p>Jack laughed. “Always the defender, huh, Davey?”</p><p>“I was six,” David reminded the group. “I was less a defender and more of a pest.”</p><p>“You were both because you sure pestered the hell out of Mrs. Westover,” Sarah said.</p><p>“What did she even say to that?” Elmer asked.</p><p>“Well first her face went red, and I mean <em>red.</em> Or maybe purple. It was sort of like a beet. And she started spluttering. And then…” Sarah paused, hands raised, voice lowering. The rest of them leaned in. David rolled his eyes. “Then she stopped. She leaned over us. She sneered. And then she said ‘and you…’” she was doing the voice again. “‘I don’t care what everyone says; you are just an insignificant and irritating little boy who will never amount to more than the gutter’.”</p><p>The boys let out a chorus of outrage.</p><p>“That bitch!” Sniper spat.</p><p>“Not in front of Les,” David reminded her and the rest of the crowd—who were saying similar or worse.</p><p>Sarah shrugged. “I’ll allow it.”</p><p>Jack’s brow was furrowed. “She really said that?”</p><p>“She’s not a kind person.” David repeated.</p><p>“No kiddin’,” Jack grumbled. He looked like he was going to add something else, but Sarah had already launched into the next part.</p><p>“Right, so she’s said this and I’m already preparing how I’m gonna convince our parents that I was within my rights to kick an old lady—you know, defend my brother’s honour, the whole shebang. But then David just looked up and said, ‘Well Ma’am, that’s not true. I may irritate folks, but that doesn’t mean I myself am an irritating person. It probably says more to your character that you are so easily irritated.’”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>” Charlie said, leaning in closer.</p><p>“How old were you again?” Katherine asked.</p><p>“Six,” the newsies chorused.</p><p>Katherine shook her head. “Oh my god.”</p><p>Sarah’s eyes were gleaming with tears of laughter now. “And Mrs. Westover’s face screwed up, and she said, ‘what on earth are you talking about?’ and David just <em>sighed</em> and <em>shook his head</em> and said ‘ well, if you aren’t going to bother trying to understand, then I’m not going to bother explaining myself’ and <em>walked away.</em>”</p><p>“NO!”</p><p>The newsies turned to David. He elected to bury his face in his hands again.</p><p>“Yes!” Sarah confirmed for them. “She looked like she’d swallowed a lemon! I didn’t even think it was possible for a person’s face to scrunch up like that. I knew I had to get out of there before she came to her senses, so I just wished her a good day and high-tailed it out of there. I caught up to David, who was about a block down around the corner. He was just standing there and looking off into the distance. Then he turned to me and said ‘I know that wasn’t very nice, but she started it’. And, of course, she <em>had,</em> so we agreed never to speak of it again and hoped she’d do the same. But…”</p><p>The audience was on the edge of their seats, or, rather, they were hanging over the bunks, on their knees, leaning forward, all eyes on his sister, her finger raised to pause the moment. The air hung in a stand-still.</p><p>“Now,” she said, “there was no mention of it in that evening, so we thought we may have gotten away with it. The next day, though, our father came home and called us into the living room. He sat us down at the table. And then, after a long silence, he said ‘David... Sarah… Mr. Westover told me a very concerning story at work today...’”</p><p>The baited breath turned to a collective gasp. David would not have been surprised if the air pressure had taken a drop just then.</p><p>Sarah nodded. “Exactly.. He said ‘Apparently Mrs. Westover was very hurt by what you said the other day, David.’ David went <em>white</em>. I’m about to be sick. Then Mama came in from the other room and said ‘Don’t worry about that, Kochanie, I talked to Mrs. Westover yesterday and sorted that all out.’”</p><p>“No!” Katherine breathed.</p><p>“Yes!” Sarah practically squealed. “Apparently, Mrs. Westover had stomped right over to our house and started yelling at Mama about how we’d insulted her. But Mama just kept asking her questions until she revealed what she had said to <em>us</em> and <em>then</em> started ripped into her about even thinking of saying such things to her children.”</p><p>“She did?” David asked. He did not remember that part.</p><p>Sarah turned to him and nodded emphatically, then turned back to her enraptured audience. “But, anyways, Mama told Tata that David had just been standing up for us both, and that Mrs. Westover had agreed to not make it an issue with her or us ever again, so Mr. Westover would be wise to do that same. And Tata just looked at her blankly. Then he looked at us blankly. And then,” Sarah paused to collect herself, as giggles threatened to tear the last bit of the story apart. She was red-faced as she finished with: “finally, he said ‘Well, if your mother says it is alright, then I suppose it is alright. But next time it might be better to just call her a witch and run away. It would be much easier to explain.’”</p><p>The laughter that followed was deafening.</p><p>“That can’t be true,” Jack said to David through his giggles.</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. ‘Unfortunately.”</p><p>“Shut up with your ‘unfortunately’s’,” Jack said, throwing his arm around his shoulder and shaking him, “that’s the best thing I’ve heard!”</p><p>“Youse is practically legends!” Race agreed.</p><p>“Wait! So <em>that’s</em> why Mrs. Westover hates you.” Les chimed in. He turned to the others and explained: “She always glares at them. Sometimes she even tries to trip them with her cane.”</p><p>The others looked over at Davey for confirmation. He nodded. “I cross over to the other side of the road when I see her coming.”</p><p>Sarah snorted, and started giggling again.</p><p>“But if this was years ago, wouldn’t she be…” Crutchie said through his tears.</p><p>“She’s ancient.” Les confirmed.</p><p>“Davey, are you tellin’ us that you still <em>cross the street</em> to avoid an old bat because you insulted her when you was six.”</p><p>David sunk lower into the bed. “Look, she’s surprisingly strong when she has the motivation. I only needed to be hit in the shins a few times before I learned.”</p><p>If anything, this just set them off more.</p><p>Jack shook him again. “Good to know you always had a mouth on ya.”</p><p>“That’s our Davey,” Katherine said with a smile, “the walking mouth of Manhattan.”</p><p>The group went silent. Their eyes widened. Gleeful smiles stretched across their faces.</p><p>David considered the shift. Then he figured it out. “Wait. No. No!”</p><p>“C’mon, Davey.” Oh, David had thought he understood when Jack had said Crutchie could be a little shit, but he had no idea until that moment just what that entailed. “You ain’t even got a nickname yet.”</p><p>“What are you– my name isn’t <em>Davey,</em>” he reminded them. “Or <em>Dave.</em>”</p><p>“Yeah but that’s–” Crutchie’s eyes flicked away, “That’s too easy.”</p><p>“What about Albert?” he pointed out. Literally. “He doesn’t even have a nickname!”</p><p>“He’s Albert.” they chorused, like this explained everything.</p><p>“Elmer?” he tried.</p><p>Elmer shrugged. “Well, my real name is Frederick.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>Jack batted the back of his head. “Yeah, and Smalls wrote ‘gotcha’ on the ceiling last week. For someone so smart, you can be real dumb.”</p><p>“Thanks Jack.” He said wryly, shoving him off.</p><p>Jack raised his hands in surrender, but said: “You’re almost a man now, Davey. I think you can handle the hard truth.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. “Some birthday this is.”</p><p>Crutchie clutched his chest. “Davey, we’re wounded.”</p><p>“Such injurious words,” Race lamented.</p><p>“Like takin’ a cane to the heart,” Jack agreed.</p><p>David snorted. His hand flew up to his mouth and he glared at Jack, betrayed. “That was awful!”</p><p>None of the others could even respond through their laughter.</p><p>..........</p><p>By the time they finished saying their goodbyes, the lamplighters were on duty.</p><p>And there was another surprise waiting for them outside.</p><p>“Snow!” Les yelled, scooping up a handful.</p><p>“Would you look at that,” Sarah said. She held her hand up, letting the flakes fall down into them.</p><p>“That’s not what you do,” Katherine said primly. “Come on.”</p><p>She pulled her down the steps and after Les, sticking her tongue out. Sarah copied her lead, and the two walked out into the street like that.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if Sarah brought it out in Katherine or if Katherine brought it out in Sarah, but the two seemed to be much sillier around each other. They deserved it, though. They’d both grown up too quickly, forced to present an impenetrable façade of composure to a world eager to tear them down at the slightest sign of a stumble. Together they could slip on the slick snow, tongues wagging, giggling as they tried to catch the falling flakes.</p><p>David shook his head as he slowly followed them, then looked up at the sky.</p><p>The light was starting to dim, the clouds above turning blue as the sun set somewhere in the distance. The falling snow was sparse but heavy, clumps of flakes floating on the air. They settled onto the earth. A few ledges already had mounds, but the roads were sparse, footprints and wheel tracks breaking up the expanse of white. A few people hurried out of the snow, darting under awnings and close to the buildings, pulling their hats down low on their faces. A few took his siblings' approach, smiling up at the sky as they made their way through the streets.</p><p>If it continued to fall through the evening then the city would look completely different. It was a funny thought. How many people had already retired to their homes? How many had pulled their shutters shut and drawn their curtains tight? How many people would go to bed, unaware that any change had occurred? How many would wake up, step out into the day, and realize that the world had changed around them while they were looking away?</p><p>David smiled to himself and looked to see if Jack had joined the others yet.</p><p>He hadn’t. Jack was still at his side. Jack was looking at him.</p><p>“What?” David asked.</p><p>“Nothin’.” Jack said. “Just… pretty.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David agreed, looking out at the view before them. “It really is.”</p><p>Jack cleared his throat. “Better get goin’.”</p><p>“Very true,” David agreed.</p><p>They made their way down the steps and after the other three.</p><p>“You know, David said as they did so, “I don’t like winter very much. There’s always so much to worry about but… well, there’s still something sort of magical about it.”</p><p>“I get that,” Jack said. “I know that this is gonna mean a busy week ahead but I can’t fault it or nothin’. It’s too nice-lookin’ to fault. Gotta just enjoy it while you can.”</p><p>“What will you have to do?” David asked.</p><p>“The usual,” he said. “Make sure everyone’s got good clothes, check in with the nuns and see if they got stuff to spare if some don’t. I’ll probably go ‘round with Kloppman to make sure we got enough fuel and blankets and extra socks. Stuff like that.”</p><p>“That’s quite a bit.”</p><p>“Always better to be prepared. Way easier to avoid getting cold in the first place than trying to warm someone up or nurse ‘em back to health.”</p><p>David huffed a laugh. The moment of amusement hung in the air as a cloud. “That’s certainly true. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard my parents saying similar things. They always get after me for not dressing warm enough. I run cold so I get colds easily. Mr. Hochman says that’s not how it works, but with all of his warnings about the dangers of winter I don’t see why that’s the one thing he chooses to refute.”</p><p>“He one of those…” Jack paused, then guessed: “hypochondriacs?”</p><p>“No.” David said. “I mean, that is the right word, but he isn’t one. He used to be a… well, he was training to be a doctor back in Germany. I don’t understand the process, but he wasn’t able to become one when he came here. But he knows a lot about ailments and is particularly passionate about all the ways you can die or be mortally wounded in everyday life.”</p><p>“We's is talkin’ ‘bout your neighbour guy, right?” Jack checked. “Not Peppermint man. The cheerful one?”</p><p>“The very same,” David confirmed.</p><p>“You think you know a guy. So he’s really hammered on the dangers of cold, huh?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” David agreed, laughing at the many memories of Mr. Hochman’s cheerful soliloquies about frostbite and freezing deaths. “He’s of the same mind as Mr. Kloppman. He always tells us to cover our heads and necks.” He looked pointedly at Jack’s lack of scarf. “Apparently both lose heat rapidly.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yes,” David said. “Especially the neck. It is very sensitive to the cold. For example.”</p><p>Quick as he could, David yanked off his glove and grabbed the back of Jack’s neck with his freezing fingers.</p><p>“DAVEY!” Jack yelled.</p><p>David was already sprinting away, laughing as he passed his siblings and Katherine.</p><p>By the time they arrived home they were all properly snow-covered, tired, and happy. They thumped up the stairs, knocking the snow off their shoes as they went.</p><p>Their mother opened the door as they approached. Before David could even say hello, their father yelled from inside.</p><p>“Did they scream?”</p><p>“Loud and shrill,” Katherine yelled back.</p><p>He laughed. “Good!”</p><p>“You conspired with our parents?” Sarah hissed.</p><p>“I did no such thing,” Katherine assured her. “I cannot say the same for your brother.”</p><p>“Natural aptitude,” Les reminded them all.</p><p>“Kochanie, ir zent a shlekht bayshpil far aundzere kinder,” his mother called into the house. A chorus of laughter answered. With a pleased smile, she looked down at Les and raised her brow. “Lesham; scarf?”</p><p>“Right.” Les yanked it off and tossed it to Jack, before darting around his mother into the house. “Mrs. Hochman!”</p><p>“Vas iz vegn mir?” David heard Mr. Hochman demand.</p><p>David’s father chuckled, saying: “Zey shtil, Georg. Du veyst, az men zitst in der heym tserayst men nit keyn shtivl..”</p><p>“What was that?” Jack whispered to David.</p><p>“Mr. Hochman was offended by Les ignoring him. My father told him he could just go home. And now…” he paused, listening to their rapid Yiddish. “Now they’re just insulting each other. Quite creatively.”</p><p>Jack giggled. “Yeah?”</p><p>“They’re not <em>that</em> creative,” Sarah whispered.</p><p>“They are trying,” his mother said. “Go stop Ida from joining. Will never stop if she does.”</p><p>Sarah laughed, kissing her mother on the cheek as she passed her. “Goodnight, you two. And thanks!”</p><p>“Goodnight, Sarah,” Katherine and Jack called after her.</p><p>His mother smiled at Katherine. “Would you like to come in?”</p><p>“I really should be going,” Katherine said.</p><p>“Alright,” his mother said, turning to Jack. “And you?”</p><p>Jack blinked, startled, by the invitation. David wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hit Jack upside the head for even thinking he wasn’t welcome or pull him forcefully into the house and never let him leave.</p><p>Jack pasted on a grin. “Thanks for the offer but I better help Kathy here get home.”</p><p>Jack also pointedly ignored David as he tried to catch his eye as he put his scarf on.</p><p>“Be safe,” David’s mother said to the pair.</p><p>“I got her,” Jack said.</p><p>Even though his mother hated it when he did so, David had to roll his eyes at that. “You too.”</p><p>Jack grinned. This time it came naturally, settling the tight line of his shoulders as it settled on his face. “Aw, when am I not?”</p><p>“I’ll have a list tomorrow,” David promised.</p><p>Katherine snorted, then started giggling. “Will it be alphabetized or by date?”</p><p>“By date, of course. I’m not an animal.”</p><p>Jack grinned, “Don’t you dare. You gotta celebrate tonight! Sarah!” He raised his voice far too loud for the small space, “hide the pens!”</p><p>“Aye, Captain!” Sarah called from inside.</p><p>Katherine laughed harder.</p><p>His mother sighed and shook her head. “Children. Seventeen and still: children.”</p><p>“Sorry, Mama,” David said, at the same time as Sarah.</p><p>“Hmm,” she said, arching her brow. “Well. Goodnight both of you. Oh, and Katherine,” Katherine stopped laughing, startled. His mother patted her on the shoulder. “Your new article was well written. Very insightful.”</p><p>“Oh,” Katherine breathed. “Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs.”</p><p>“My pleasure,” his mother said. “Should thank David, though. He reads them.”</p><p>“On your insistence,” David insisted.</p><p>“Thank you both,” Katherine said. She cleared her throat, and said, still a little choked: “I’m very glad to know that you enjoyed it.”</p><p>“All,” his mother corrected.</p><p>Katherine’s eyes went wide. Very faintly she said: “All?”</p><p>“We have enjoyed all of them.”</p><p>Katherine’s eyes went impossibly wider. She looked to David. “All?”</p><p>“All,” David confirmed.</p><p>Katherine nodded, breathless once again. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You are welcome. Now off you go. Jack?”</p><p>“Yes, Mrs. Jacobs?” he asked quickly, stumbling over the words.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Um…” Jack blushed and hooked his arm through Katherines. “Right. No problem. Uh… have a good night!”</p><p>“Goodnight, Mrs. Jacobs,” Katherine said.</p><p>“Goodnight, dear,” Esther said. “Goodnight Jack.”</p><p>“Night,” Jack said again. He grimaced, then shuffled off.</p><p>David watched them go, Katherine leaning in to whisper something to Jack. He hissed something back that made her giggle all the way down the stairs, until their voices drifted away on the cold wind, silenced by the evening and the snow.</p><p>“Hmm.” David turned back to his mother. She was also looking out to where the pair had left them, brows furrowed. In quiet Russian, she said: “David, dear, he seems a perfectly nice boy, but your friend really is… is he quite alright? He seemed...odd.”</p><p>David laughed. “He wasn’t… well, maybe a bit. Really he’s…”</p><p>David was struck with the sudden urge to tell her about the entire day, like he used to do when he was a child, sitting at the table while she worked around him. He wanted to tell her how Jack probably waited for Katherine as she finished work and then waited for David as he finished school, after an entire morning of selling, and never once complained about the cold. He wanted to tell her about how attentively he'd listened to Les as he told a story obviously laden with lies. He wanted to tell her how hard Jack had worked to sell their papers in record time so that he and Sarah could spend time with their friends. It wouldn’t be enough though. He wished it was—he wished he had the ability to show her everything he saw in Jack. Jack deserved to have others admire him, to have others see the goodness in him that he too often could not see in himself. He wished he could capture the magic that Jack imparted to the world despite the pain he’d experienced within it.</p><p>To do so felt like a betrayal, though. It wasn’t that he’d have to betray Jack to do so. He would never tell others what Jack had told him in confidence. It wasn’t even that Jack would not want him to do such a thing—though that was true. Oddly, as much as David wanted Jack to be appreciated, he also wanted to keep him to himself. He wanted to hold their shared moments close to his chest, treasuring each one, protecting them from any potential judgement. Their friendship was theirs. He liked it that way.</p><p>“I can’t really explain it,” he said slowly, “but he’s a good person. Deeply and genuinely, he is a good person. It’s only that he doesn’t know how to act around… around parents. He… well, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s had a lot of practice.”</p><p>Quiet followed his statement. Hesitantly, he looked over to see his mother’s reaction.</p><p>She was looking at him steadily. Perceptively. Oddly.</p><p>She cleared her throat and looked away. “You are a good boy, David.”</p><p>“Oh,” he said, thrown. “Thank you?”</p><p>She smiled. “Come. Your father’s been eyeing up the cake since he got home from work. We must hurry. He does not have your patience.”</p><p>David laughed and followed after her.</p><p>..........</p><p>As the embers died away and the moon rose high in the sky, David collapsed into bed. His siblings gladly followed his lead.</p><p>“Goodnight,” their mother said from the doorway.</p><p>“Goodnight,” they chorused.</p><p>She closed the door quietly.</p><p>The heat from the stove was starting to fade from the air, but the bedwarmer was still hot at their toes. Sarah had dug out the extra quilt at David’s urging—he as certain this marked the beginning of a long winter. They all curled up beneath it now.</p><p>When Les’s breath slowed and his head sunk deeper into the pillows, David turned to face the ceiling.</p><p>“Hey Sarah,” David whispered. “We forgot about the rum.”</p><p>For a moment there was no answer. Then: “Damn.” Another pause. “It was pretty good despite that.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David agreed, smiling into the darkness. “It was, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He wondered if she was smiling too. No, she was. He heard it in her voice. “We’ll get some rum some other time.”</p><p>“Okay,” David said. “Goodnight Sarah.”</p><p>“Goodnight,” Sarah said, a yawn stretching out her words. “Happy Birthday, David.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, Sarah.”</p><p>“Whoop-di-do, you’re both seventeen,” Les grumbled into the pillow, “now go to <em>sleep.</em>”</p><p>David huffed a laugh and squeezed Les’s hand. “Fine. Goodnight.”</p><p>Les grumbled and burrowed his head further into the pillow.</p><p>David smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He pulled the blankets up to his chin, and curled his legs in further from the foot of the bed.</p><p>He thought back to that chilly night a year earlier, whisky fogging their minds, their breath fogging in the air.</p><p>
  <em>Here’s to a great year ahead.</em>
</p><p>It really had been, hadn’t it?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Kochanie: Sweetheart [Polish]<br/>ir zent a shlekht bayshpil far aundzere kinder: You are a bad example for our children [Yiddish]<br/>Vas iz vegn mir: What about me? [Yiddish]<br/>Zey shtil, Georg. Du veyst, az men zitst in der heym tserayst men nit keyn shtivl: Be quiet, Georg. You know, if you stay at home, you won't wear out your boots [Yiddish]</p><p>And here is the historically accurate cookie recipe:<br/>Ginger snaps – Mix one pint of flour, one cupful of sugar, a piece of butter the size of two eggs; three heaping tablespoons of ginger, and a little salt. Pour into this two cupfuls of heated molasses. Add flour enough to make it roll out thin. Bake three or four minutes.<br/>(from <em>Mrs. Clarke's Cook Book: Containing Over One Thousand of the Best Up-to-date Recipes for Every Conceivable Need in Kitchen and Other Departments of Housekeeping</em>, Anne Clarke, National Tribune, 1899)</p><p>I shit you not, that is all it says. I have tried to make these. I have tried to adapt these. I have failed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Perspective: November 19, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So… this is stupid long again. It’s a lot of backstory, tomfoolery, emotions, and me making the mistake of including symbolism again (this time with art!)  </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: implied/referenced racism, implied/referenced antisemitism, discussion of Warsaw pogroms, past loss of parents, implied/referenced homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Perspective</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1. a.</strong> a mental view or prospect <strong>b.</strong> a visible scene; <strong>2. a.</strong> the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed <strong>b.</strong> the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance; <strong>3.</strong> the appearance to the eye of objects in respect to their relative distance and positions; <strong>4.</strong> The technique or process of representing the spatial relationship of objects on a two-dimensional surface so as to give the right impression of their height, width, and position in relation to each other to give the illusion of depth and distance. [English, from Middle French, modification of Old Italian <em>prospettiva,</em> from <em>prospetto</em> view, prospect, from Latin <em>prospectus</em>]</p><p><strong>Perspective</strong> <em>adj.</em> <strong>1.</strong> of, relating to, employing, or seen in perspective; <strong>2.</strong> <em>obsolete:</em> aiding the vision [English, from Middle English, optical, from Medieval Latin <em>perspectivus</em>]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>November 19, 1899</strong>
</p><p>David had expected the snow to continue. It hadn’t. Not a flake had fallen since the evening of his seventeenth birthday. It didn’t have to; With the way the wind dragged up the existing snow and blew it every which way there was no need for the clouds to release any more moisture. They’d had approximate storms the whole week. The clouds still loomed, a constant reminder that it could be worse, but for now they just watched. It was like the world decided it liked flurries but was only willing to put in half the effort to make them.</p><p>The city kept getting colder. Bitterly cold. Every step outdoors or around a corner meant confronting a new chill. The wind hit you the minute you went outside, stealing your breath away as it rushed through you. You could even hear it inside as it bludgeoned the sides of buildings, whistling past windows and making old wood creak and groan.</p><p>The weather dampened spirits. Where people used to smile at others on the street now they scowled and buried their faces into their scarves and collars. Even when the wind died down, eyes were on the pavement, watching for icy patches.</p><p>Selling was different now. There were fewer people on the street so customers were few and far between. Those who were hurried past. The customers they did get were more indulgent—the newsies were more than happy to play up their shivering to help charity along. Still, they were selling back more papers each evening. It was good to see that what they’d fought for that summer, what they’d worked to keep in the months after, was paying off. Literally.</p><p>They weren’t particularly jubilant about that fact. They didn’t have the stamina. It was hard to be jubilant when you couldn’t feel your fingers.</p><p>They did their best, though. Specs had taken David’s suggestion of reading out-loud and ran with it. Each evening he had an audience for his stories, the young ones hanging onto his every word, the older ones interrupting with their own commentary. They were really enjoying <em>David Copperfield,</em> even if they thought David— “Course we ain't talkin’ ‘bout you, Davey. Youse is <em>Davey</em>”—was a bit of an idiot. Buttons spent his free time patching every hole in every sock and glove. Smalls and Romeo spent their time entertaining Buttons as he did so. Sniper and Finch held more “slingshot exhibition matches”. Mush had started inventing various games. Most of them involved jumping on furniture and tackling each other and usually ended with Kloppman coming up to see what the racket was. Albert and Race were planning something. David knew they were. He didn’t know <em>what</em> yet, but he was watching out for it.</p><p>The only issue was that… well, tempers were still short. Comments that would have passed over on a pleasant day now stung like the tips of their wind-nipped ears. Offenses and quarrels were quick to arise. The cold snap made people snap.</p><p>David had suspected it would come eventually. He still hadn’t expected it.</p><p>David wasn’t sure what had started it. He’d been helping the Nowaks fill the gap in their window frame. He returned exhausted, opened the door, and had Les shove past him. His father had been sitting with his head buried in his hands. His mother had been gripping the chair like it was the only thing holding her up. Sarah had grabbed him and pulled him out and up to the roof.</p><p>Sarah had sorted it out.</p><p>In any case, Les was confined to school, selling, homework, and home. It wasn’t fun for anyone involved, especially the first few days, when Les was keen to lash out at anyone he deemed responsible for enforcing the rules. Most of his anger landed on David. Which David did not appreciate.</p><p>That being said, it was still hard to enjoy the days of uninterrupted time with the others without feeling guilty about.</p><p>It was easier during moments like this; moments he knew Les wouldn’t enjoy in the slightest and moments he wouldn’t trade for the world.</p><p>The Bowery theatre was almost uncomfortably warm. He’d taken off his coat as soon as they entered, and had been tempted to strip off his flannel a few times. Jack had not hesitated, stripping down to his undershirt the minute they got backstage. He also put his apron on over it, which surprised David to no end considering that the undershirt was already paint-stained beyond repair. Jack rolled his eyes but did not retaliate. He had been expressly told not to.</p><p>Medda had welcomed them with open arms. Literally. Open arms and the strict rule of “no disrupting my rehearsal, I mean it Jack Kelly. We’re behind schedule and I’ll be damned if I have to stop the girls’ number because you decide to try and paint your nice, <em>polite</em> friend blue. Again.” Jack had opened his mouth—probably to reveal that <em>David</em> had been the instigator of that particular incident—but David elbowed him in the side and smiled his best please-trust-me smile and promised they would behave.</p><p>So far they’d lived up to that promise. Mostly because Jack was busy painting and David was busy doing homework.</p><p>“Hey, Davey?” Jack called, just loud enough for it to carry over to where David was sitting.</p><p>“Yeah?” he said in return, glancing up from his work.</p><p>“You got a sec?”</p><p>David looked back down to his assignment, then over to his arithmetic book. “I have two more problems left.”</p><p>“No rush,” Jack said easily. “And my guess is twelve and twenty-seven.”</p><p>David looked down to the next two questions. The first one was about a wealthy man’s inheritance stipulations. The second one clearly referenced Archimedes’ principle.</p><p>“I can tell you now,” he said, “that you are nowhere close.”</p><p>Jack peaked his head out to show his cheeky grin. “Better do ‘em quick so that you can eat your words.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes, smiling to himself as he started working on the first problem.</p><p>As stupid as it sounded, this was his favourite way to do homework. It might even be his favourite way to spend his time. It was comfortable, for one. Strings of ragtime and hammy punchlines drifted through the heavy stage curtain. The air was warm. The light was dim. Medda always gave him the candle from her office to help him do his work. Jack stood a few feet away, sometimes hidden by the backdrop he was working on, sometimes visible when he stood back to make funny faces at his paintings. As much as David liked the ambiance, he knew that Jack’s scowling and squinting presence was the real reason his time here was so pleasurable.</p><p>Maybe it was silly, but it was comforting to know that they could just… spend time together like this. That he and Jack would seek each other out even when there wasn’t anything to discuss or fix. They didn’t even have to be focused on one another, didn’t even have to <em>talk.</em> He’d only ever known this sort of companionship with his family. Even then there was the expectation that they were always ready to help one another with homework, ready to set the table, or help prepare dinner, or finish the laundry. David supposed that still applied here. Sometimes Jack would ask him to take a look at his work, telling him what he wasn’t sure was working so that David knew what to look for. Sometimes David read out the questions, more to think them through than to ask advice. Sometimes he would read out his answers to see if he could condense his winding sentences—Jack usually laughed at him those times, but he also managed to tell David which adjectives to cut between his giggles so David allowed it. Occasionally they also drifted into talks about the other newsies or David’s family or the union, but… none of that was the purpose. The purpose was each other’s company. The purpose was not to need a purpose to be in each other’s company.</p><p>David treasured these moments.</p><p>These moments were few and far between.</p><p>Jack was busy helping Kloppman prepare for the winter. He’d also taken David and Crutchie’s advice and started taking on more cartooning and set-painting jobs—they tried not to rub just how right they’d been in his face but they didn’t try very hard. David was barely keeping up with the increasing demands of his teachers and classmates. The threat of winter—already making itself known in cold gusts of wind and frosty evenings—had started taking up the rest of his evenings. His father frequently called on his height and able body to help make the necessary repairs to the tenement building. He’d spent the last few days ensuring every hole in the old wood was patched, levelling the steps where they could so that the ice would be the only threat to their balance, and generally trying to use their haphazard collection of construction material to try and beat back nature for another year.</p><p>They still spent time together, of course. There was always selling and Union business, of course. It wasn’t like they never saw each other, or talked. It’s just that they were rarely alone—surrounded by newsies, trailed by Les. Which David didn’t begrudge… usually. It was just… well, this was nice. That’s all.  </p><p>David finished up his work, checked his answers, and penciled them in.</p><p>“Alright,” he said, blowing out the candle. “Do you still need me?”</p><p>“Sure,” Jack’s voice came from behind the backdrop. “You done then?”</p><p>“Yep,” David confirmed. He stood, stretching far enough that he felt the pull along his spine, his shoulders cracking as he reached his arms up high. “By the way, the answers were $4500 and 28.8038 oz and 34.1962 oz.”</p><p>“The hell?”</p><p>“As in the widow inherited $4500 from her husband and the crown was made with 28.8038 oz of silver and 34.1962 oz of gold.”</p><p>Jack poked his head out and jabbed his brush in David’s direction. A thick glob of paint dropped off the bristles and down to the tarp beneath him. “That’s the sorta useful knowledge you’re gonna need in the world, Davey.”</p><p>David snorted, which made Jack smile wide. “I told you it’s about–”</p><p>“Buildin’ your problem-solvin’ abilities,” Jack recited. “Sure. But least they could do is make the problems you gotta solve sound like, you know, <em>actual problems.</em>”</p><p>“Well my classmates will need to know how to manage the eventual division of their estates between their family members,” he pointed out as he packed his things together, stuffing it all into his bag, “and there are quite a few of them that may well commission their own crowns—though I doubt they’ll be able to afford ones large enough to suit their enlarged self-importance, much less their fat heads.”</p><p>Jack cackled. “You don’t pull your punches do ya?”</p><p>David smirked, heart fluttering with the pleasure of Jack’s approval. “I don’t need to when I’m with you. You like it when I go for the easy hits.”</p><p>“Sure,” Jack said, “’cause it’s fun to see you take ‘em. Now come’ere.”</p><p>“Coming there,” David agreed, making his way over. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”</p><p>“Bottom left corner,” Jack said. He grabbed one of his stained rags and started rubbing the paint and turpentine off, eyes still locked on his piece. “I think it’s too dark. Let me know if you end up stuck there—like, you keep lookin’ at that part even when you’re tryin’ to look at another part.”</p><p>“I think I can do that,” David said as he came close enough to peak around the side of the backdrop to see–</p><p>“Oh, <em>Jack.</em>” The words were barely louder than an exhale. He’d hardly meant to say them. They came as easy as breathing.</p><p>It was night in the mountains. The sky was pitch black. But… no, it wasn’t black. Deep blues and greens were scumbled together, myriads of shades and tones layered until they were almost indistinguishable. The paint was so heavy it held the shape of the bristles it had flowed from. Despite the scuffed surface, the darkness still looked endless, deep and unknowable. The moon hung just off centre—pure white, a sliver away from full. The celestial light illuminated the diaphanous scrim of clouds, a hazy veil, which only a few stubborn stars could penetrate. The vastness of the evening dwarfed the mountains and valleys that laid asleep in the late hour. Everything was still. It was quiet. It was beautiful.</p><p>“Jack,” David said again, tearing his eyes away.</p><p>Jack twitched and looked up through his lashes, still nervously cleaning the brushes. “What d’ya think?”</p><p>David couldn’t help it; he laughed.</p><p>“What?” Jack said. He set aside the brushes and came to stand right next to David, as though trying to make sure they were looking at the exact same thing the exact same way. “What’s wrong!?”</p><p>“Nothing!” David said, hand flying up to his mouth to cover the joy bubbling from them, trying to control himself. “Just… Jack, this is incredible.”</p><p>Jack’s brows furrowed tight. He looked up at the piece, eyes skirting across it, up and down. The more he looked, the more he scowled, disbelieving.</p><p>Jack shook his head. “It is not.”</p><p>“It <em>is,</em>” David insisted.</p><p>He looked back to the painting. The light emanating from it felt cool even under the warm stage lights. A filmy cloud hovered over the left side of the moon. It was positioned just so, disguising the sliver that remained until the moon reached the half-way point of its cycle. The edges of the cloud were painted with dashes of pale blue, green, and grey, dotted with flicks of pure white. He blurred his eyes and the strokes transformed into haze. The effect was startlingly realistic.</p><p>David pointed to the spot. “Right there. That right there. Just… they’re lines. They’re <em>lines</em> but it looks like it’s <em>glowing</em>. How the hell do you even–”</p><p>Jack scoffed, “It’s just a picture, Davey. Nothin’ special ‘bout it.”</p><p>“Nothing special?” David repeated, looking over at his friend in disbelief. “Just… Jack.” The words evaded him, refusing his grasping, so he just repeated: “<em>Jack.</em>”</p><p>Jack, for his part, just squinted, bemused. “What?”</p><p>In absence of any explanation, David settled for punching him in the arm. “This is special!”</p><p>“Ow!” Jack said, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”</p><p>“For being an idiot!” David said. “Now… say it’s good!”</p><p>“What?” Jack screwed up his face tight. “No!”</p><p>David lunged.</p><p>“Hey!” Jack said, jumping out of arm's reach.</p><p>“Stop being an idiot!”</p><p>“I’m not bein’–” David’s next grab was closer. “<em>No!</em>” Jack stumbled back, grinning. “Davey!”</p><p>David lunged again, fingers brushing Jack’s shoulder. “Not until you admit it!”</p><p>“Hey!” Jack tripped back, “No–”</p><p>“Boys?” Medda’s voice called from the front. “You alright back there?”</p><p>“Yes, Miss Medda,” they chorused, refusing to take their eyes off each other.</p><p>“Then keep it down,” she called, “and stop climbing on the furniture or… crawling up the rafters or whatever it is you’re up to.”</p><p>“Sorry Miss Medda,” they recited dutifully.</p><p>“You heard her, Davey,” Jack said breathlessly, “Gotta stop now.”</p><p>David laughed and kept his hands at the ready. “Not until you say it.”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine. It’s good.”</p><p>“I believe the word I used was ‘special’”</p><p>“Davey,” Jack groaned.</p><p>“I’ll settle for ‘incredible’. You can try ‘masterful’ if you’d like.”</p><p>“But it’s <em>not–</em>”</p><p>“It is,” David insisted. “It really is, Jack. I promise.”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes again, but his lips twitched almost to a smile. “Alright. If you say so.”</p><p>“I do,” he said simply, deciding to take the small victory of Jack smiling and settling back to look at the painting again. “I think this might even be my favourite one. You’re really good at painting the sky, you know that?”</p><p>“And you’re not biased or nothin’,” Jack said wryly. “It’s got absolutely nothin’ to do with how much you like skies.”</p><p>David laughed. “You got me there.” After a moment the words sunk in, along with the realization that he had never actually told anyone… “Wait, how did you–”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “You always look up at it when we go out.”</p><p>“Huh.” David didn’t know he did that. “Alright.”</p><p>Jack tipped his head to the side. “Why do you?”</p><p>David hummed, considering the question. He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked up at the sky before him, at the clouds that were forced into stillness, hinting at a moment, at a steady drift, but unable to complete their passage.</p><p> “I guess…” he started to say, “I like to see how much they change. Each day there’s something a little different about it.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Jack said, “And… I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the same too? Not like the clouds or nothing, but there’s patterns. Sometimes it’s grey. Sometimes the clouds are thick and fluffy-lookin’. And you know what’s comin’ from ‘em, usually. You can look at it and know it’s chilly or if there’s a storm comin’.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David smiled at Jack. “Exactly.”</p><p>Jack smiled back, then ducked his head. “Maybe I should get you to start helpin’ me out. Can’t have all those cloud feelings go to waste.”</p><p>David scoffed. “On your own head be it. I can’t draw for shit.”</p><p>Jack laughed, sharp and loud. He clapped his hand over his mouth and looked over to the curtain. The music continued uninterrupted, so Jack shook his head at David and said: “Well that seems kinda harsh.”</p><p>“It’s not,” David assured him. “It’s really not. Sarah still has a picture I drew in… oh, second grade? I’m sure if you asked her, she’d show it to you. I don’t know where it is.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I would destroy it if I did.” David shook his head. “I’m not exaggerating Jack; it is horrifying.”</p><p>“What did you even <em>draw?</em>”</p><p>“It was supposed to be a mouse.”</p><p>Jack giggled. “Supposed to?”</p><p>Without trying, David recalled the image. The lopsided large eyes, each drawn with very dark pencil lines. The grotesquely flattened body, a little lumpier on the back end, like someone had stepped down with a heavy boot and then tried to smear it off. The ears. David couldn’t bring himself to think about the poor creature’s ears.</p><p>He affected a shiver and a trembling tone: “I don’t know what it is but it is not a mouse.”</p><p>“How did you manage to fuck up a <em>mouse?</em>” Jack asked through his giggles.</p><p>“Morally? I’m sure there are many ways to traumatize a mouse. The cats of the world probably specialize in that area. If you’re talking about managing to fuck up a drawing of a mouse… well, technically speaking I would guess my absolute lack of technical ability.”</p><p>Jack giggled once more and shook his head again. “Well, for someone who ‘can’t draw for shit’ you’re not half bad at lookin’ at it.”</p><p>“Thanks,” David drawled.</p><p>“I mean it,” Jack insisted. “You’re almost as good as Medda and she’s got years of practice. And you’re way better than the others. Crutchie? Race? Mush? They’re useless. They’re just like ‘looks like clouds!’ and that’s it. Katherine got the colours but not much else. You though? You notice stuff. Details. It helps a lot.”</p><p>The earnestness melted into David’s heart and made him feel warm. “Well… you’ve been really helpful telling me what to look for. And I have some background—Sarah’s been demanding second opinions on her embroidery since she started doing it and we have talked a bit about this in school.”</p><p>“You get to study art in school?” Jack asked, voice edging on excited. “You never said nothin’ ‘bout that.”</p><p>David shrugged. “Not often and probably not in the way you’re thinking. We don’t learn about how art is made. We focus on why it is made—the history behind the pieces or the history they depict.”</p><p>“Huh,” Jack said, “I only know a bit of that. Katherine took me to the Met back in August. She told me ‘bout the stories she knew and I guessed at how they made stuff. It was pretty fun.”</p><p>“Sounds like it,” David said. “Way more fun than our trip.”</p><p>“When did you go?”</p><p>“Last year,” David thought back, and realized: “Around this time actually. One of my teachers—Mr. Stuart, I don’t think I’ve talked about him before—his family’s been a patron of the Met since it opened.”</p><p>Jack squinted. “Patron?”</p><p>“It’s a fancy way of saying they gave the Met a bunch of money,” he clarified. “Anyways, in return they agreed to give our class a tour. It wouldn’t have been bad except that we were mostly looking European paintings.”</p><p>Jack grimaced. “I think I can see where this is headin’.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “Yeah. He was very concerned that my ‘lack of moral education’ would ‘hinder my ability to appreciate the artists’ genius’.”</p><p>He laughed at the memory of Mr. Stuart leaning over his desk, fingers steepled, saying those very words <em>very</em> earnestly. Mr. Stuart was a middle-aged and narrow man (both physically and intellectually) who’s drooping eyes and heavy jowls made the slightest frown look like the hallmark of a deep spiritual anguish. On that day, when his spirits were actually low, he’d looked incurably morbid.</p><p>“I think he was genuinely worried, too,” he explained to Jack. “He had me study ahead of time to make sure I could keep up with the rest of the class. I think that’s the most work I’ve ever done for an assignment and it didn’t even go towards my grade. Except <em>then</em> he went and told the man who led our tour, too. So even though I’d read half a shelf of books on art history and parables and a ridiculous number of saints this guy kept checking to make sure I understood what he was referencing! And, of course, the rest of my class jumped in to help, and ended up getting everything wrong. You know one of them had Rachel and Rebecca confused? He switched them around!”</p><p>Jack snorted. “Jesus,”</p><p>“Oh, they told me a lot about him too,” David assured him. “Really, though, it was all unnecessary. We only looked at… maybe twenty Christian paintings? At least half of those were related to the crucifixion and entombment—which, sorry, but that is not a difficult or particularly complicated story to remember—and a quarter of them were of stories that are in the Tanakh! None of them knew <em>that,</em> apparently.” He snorted, then laughed. “I always knew I was the first Jew to attend Barnett, but it was only when one of the boys tried to explain to me who Adam and Eve were that I realized they must have never <em>talked</em> to a single Jewish person before I started attending the school.”</p><p>He looked over to laugh with Jack.</p><p>Only… Jack wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling.</p><p>“Davey, that’s…” he trailed off. David wasn’t sure if he decided against completing the sentence or if he couldn’t. Instead, Jack swallowed heavily—it might well have been the latter—and said: “You get a lot of that at school, don’t’cha?”</p><p>David paused, surprised. “I… yeah. Of course. I mean… well, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah, I do,” Jack agreed. He smiled—at once apologetic and commiserating. “Still sorry you do.” Jack kept looking at him. His eyes grew sadder with each moment. “You… uh. It’s… is it… bad?”</p><p>David stiffened. Which was stupid. Jack… as much as he didn’t want him to, Jack probably knew. He took a deep breath, forcing his limbs to loosen on the exhale.</p><p>“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Jack,” he promised.</p><p>Jack narrowed his eyes. “Not what I asked, is it? I mean… the kids I get. I only went to school for a bit and it was crap. And Kath’s told me ‘bout the shit she got put through. Those were girls. Can’t imagine a bunch of guys are better. But the teachers too…” Jack shook his head, eyes going sad again. “That ain’t right.”</p><p>David looked down, away from Jack’s perceptive gaze. “Mrs. Aldridge–”</p><p>“Good. So that’s one,” Jack said. “She teach all your classes?”</p><p>David huffed a little laugh. “No, I know. But...” he shrugged, curling in on himself with the motion. He fiddled with the loose threads on his cuff. “It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it. If there was… there’s too much of a risk anyways. And I’m less than… God, I’m less than six months away from getting my diploma. And I just want to… no, I’m <em>going</em> to finish at the top of the class and they’re going to have to look at my name for the rest of their careers and know that I won.”</p><p>Jack laughed. “Yeah, that’s the Davey I know.”</p><p>Jack was smiling at him, a little proud, a little cheeky, the corners of his eyes crinkled. David looked down, his cheeks warm.</p><p>“I think you might be the only one that thinks of me that way,” he admitted.</p><p>“Nah,” Jack poked his arm. “Most of the guys know you got a little rabble-rouser in your heart. It’s why you still put up with us.”</p><p>David smirked. “<em>Rabble-rouser?</em> My god, I always thought this theatre might be haunted but I didn’t realize we were at risk of being possessed by the ghost of a long-departed grandmother.”</p><p>Jack screwed up his face and swatted him. “Also knew it ‘cause of your sass, you mouthy bastard!”</p><p>“Oh good, she’s left us in peace,” David said airily.</p><p>Jack hit him again.</p><p>“Ow,” David said, little heat behind it.</p><p>Jack smirked. “Mouth.”</p><p>It took David less time today than it had earlier in the week. “Really Jack?”</p><p>Jack shrugged, still smirking. “Shoe fits.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean I want to wear it!”</p><p>Unfortunately, David’s new nickname was a roaring success amongst the Manhattan Newsies. Those that hadn’t been in attendance at the celebration had since been helpfully informed of his new epithet. It was only a matter of time before the other boroughs were informed of the change. Spot had probably already heard. David would not be surprised if that was how he greeted him at the next meeting.</p><p>Sarah and Les had been absolute nightmares.</p><p>David was still mainly Davey so it wasn’t so bad.</p><p>He still rolled his eyes and shoved Jack before he returned to their previous topic: “Seriously, Jack, where did that <em>come</em> from?”</p><p>“Not my fault I’ve been helpin’ Kloppman most days!” Jack defended.</p><p>David shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”</p><p>“I just… I don’t know, when I spend lots of time with someone, I pick up phrases. My Pa did it too, I remember. He used to come home spoutin’ Italian. Annoyed the hell outta Tia Adelia.”</p><p>David tilted his head in question. “Tia Adelia?”</p><p>“Auntie,” Jack explained. “’Cept she wasn’t really my auntie. She lived in the same spot as us and decided to help soon as she heard Ma’s accent. Then she took care of me after Ma passed…” his voice trailed away. He coughed a little, then, hoarser, said: “She was nice.”</p><p>David watched Jack’s shoulders tighten, watched his head dip down.</p><p>Quietly, he asked. “Is she also…?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Jack stuffed his hands into his pockets. He stared resolutely at the floor. “Yeah. Pretty soon after my Pa.”</p><p>David’s heart grew heavy. That Jack’s life had been emptied of his family so quickly was… it was wrong. It was unfair. David felt a little emptier for knowing it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” David murmured. “May their memories be blessings.”</p><p>Jack peeked up and smiled. “Thanks. You know, I always liked that one.”</p><p>“Oh.” <em>Whoops.</em> “Right. Um. May they rest in peace?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jack said quietly. “I like to think they’re… you know. That they get to do both.”</p><p>“I think they do,” David said quietly.</p><p>His quiet answer grew into a quiet moment. Jack looked up at his painting. His eyes darted around the painting. David wondered what it looked like for him. He knew it must look different. Jack’s vision far exceeded David’s—sometimes he would point things out, cheerfully offhand, like the purple tinge to a smoke stack, or a hazy rainbow in the mist from a burst fire hydrant, with a simple “look at that, Davey, ain't that neat?”. It was even more obvious when they looked at drawings. Sometimes David would look over Jack’s shoulder while he drew, watching him transform the world to pocket-size, translating it in quick dashes and scribbles. David would compliment them and Jack would scowl, complaining about proportions. Then he would draw three different lines and the whole picture would change. It was breathtaking.</p><p>Funny enough, Jack seemed to go back to the same passage as David had; the waxing edge of the moon. David looked up again, and let himself be transfixed. Here they were, standing in the shadow of the glowing moon, under the dim stage lights, warm despite the chill outside. A study in opposites. A study in similarity.</p><p>David didn’t want to linger in quiet contemplation, though.</p><p>“Hey…” he said slowly. “can I ask you a question?”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Shoot.”</p><p>“It’s more like a few questions,” David amended.</p><p>Jack nodded again. “Start shootin’.”</p><p>“Alright.” He thought for a moment. “So, just to confirm, your father was born in New York?”</p><p>Jack squinted. “…Yeah?”</p><p>“Right. And your mother was born in Cuba but she and her family moved to New Orleans?”</p><p>“Can’t believe you remember all of that,” Jack said with a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s right.”</p><p>“Right,” David said. Then, incredulous as he could, he asked: “So how does a New York Irish man even <em>meet</em> a Cuban woman from New Orleans?”</p><p>Jack laughed at the tone—goal accomplished—and warned: “It’s not a short story, Davey.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” David assured him. “The longer the better. I need to banish those word problems from my mind.”</p><p>“Fine, but remember,” Jack jabbed his finger into David’s chest: “you asked for it.”</p><p>Jack cast his eyes across the space. He motioned to David, who followed him immediately. Jack guided him over to the small alcove. They’d helped Medda move a few of the new set pieces to the spot—a wobbly table that needed a good sanding, a very fancy standing lamp with tattered fringes and a torn shade, and a couch where the legs had—in Medda’s words—been sawed off for no goddamn reason because the world barely had enough sense to keep it turning. It was the couch Jack went towards. He flopped down onto the burgundy cushion. A cloud of dust puffed up around him, illuminated by the lights above them.</p><p>“Settle on down, Davey.” Jack patted the sofa, releasing more dust clouds. “You’re in for a long one.”</p><p>David smiled and shook his head. He sat down on the other side of the sofa, toeing off his shoes and pulling his legs up so that he was facing Jack. Jack did the same. It was an oddly short couch—Medda had called it a “two-seater” and Ida, one of the dancers, had called it a “loveseat”. Whatever it was called it meant that their ankles were touching. David dropped one of his legs back down, toe brushing the ground, so that he could lean back and still see Jack’s face.</p><p>Jack leaned forward, his mouth opening. But then paused, brow furrowing, and said: “Shit, I don’t know where to start.”</p><p>“That’s okay.” David shifted a bit so that the arm of the chair wasn’t digging into the small of his back. “How about… your mother?”</p><p>“Okay. Well, she was from Cuba.” David glared. Jack just smirked, but did continue: “Apparently stuff was pretty rough down there. They weren’t getting no better—and, considerin’ the stories I’ve sold since, I know they haven’t. Her family packed themselves up, hopped on a boat or somethin’ like it, and got themselves all the way to New Orleans. Problem was that things were pretty rough down there too.”</p><p>“When did they arrive?”</p><p>“Pretty sure it was in the 60s.”</p><p>“<em>Shit.</em>”</p><p>Jack laughed. “Yeah. Dumb luck or bad timin’, I’m not sure which. Either way it wasn’t good. I don’t know what happened to ‘em all. Don’t even know how many there <em>were.</em> I didn’t…” Jack trailed off. He scratched at the paint that had dried under his nails. “Don’t know much about her.”</p><p>David gave him a moment. Jack took a deep breath, then smiled and shrugged.</p><p>He nudged Jack with his foot, pressing their ankles together even more. “How did they meet, though?”</p><p>Jack smiled, a quiet thank-you. “Well, my old man went down to Louisiana when things were settlin’—he was a gandy dancer back then–”</p><p>“A gandy dancer?” David interrupted.</p><p>“Worked on the rails.” Jack clarified. “Fixed the tracks and stuff. Most of ‘em got torn up in the war. Then they wanted to build more down there—connect the states together, I guess. And make sure they could get down there fast if things started gettin’ stupid again. And once you build tracks you gotta fix up <em>those</em> tracks when they get torn up or worn out. It’s a lot of work. It’s hard work, too, so they’re always lookin’ for more folks that need cash quick and don’t mind wreckin’ themselves for it.”</p><p>David pursed his lips to stop the threatening smile. “He talked about it a lot, huh?”</p><p>Jack rolled his eyes and huffed a little laugh. “You got no idea, Davey. Pa worked in shit jobs till the day he died but I don’t think none of ‘em got close to rail repair. Not a day went by when he didn’t come home and start complainin’ ‘bout work only to turn ‘round and start talkin’ ‘bout how it was better than fixin’ rails. It was endless.”</p><p>David shook his head ruefully. “Sorry for bringing it up.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I don’t mind rememberin’ that,” Jack said. He was quiet for a moment, eyes far away. He snapped back with a: “Right. So he heads down there—right in the middle of summer so it’s hot as hell. Streets meltin’ underfoot, rivers dryin’ up, the whole shebang. One day Pa loses a bet so he’s the one that’s gotta go get the food. So he’s in the market—big and open, colour everywhere, each stall with somethin’ he’d never seen before—and he looks up. Across the street there’s this girl. She’s shoppin’ too—she was buying stuff for her family. He freezes, struck dumb. Then she looks up and catches his eye and…” Jack raised his hands—in fists—and opened them wide, spreading his fingers out. His eyes widened too. “Boom.”</p><p>David raised a brow. “Boom?”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Boom. That’s what he always said.”</p><p>“Huh.” David said. He considered this for a moment. “I didn’t think it was a…” he mimicked the gesture, “boom.”</p><p>“It is,” Jack said with certainty. “It definitely is. Maybe not right away, but at some point there’s a–” he did the gesture again “<em>–boom.</em>”</p><p>David huffed a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. What did they do then?”</p><p>“Well then Mr. Francis Sullivan walked right up to her and told her she was the prettiest gal he’d ever laid eyes on.”</p><p>“Just like that?”</p><p>“Just like that.”</p><p>“And what did she say?”</p><p>“‘No hablo Ingles.’”</p><p>David snorted. “Okay, even I know that one.”</p><p>Jack laughed too. “Yeah. But at least half of my Pa’s crew was Mexicans so he did too. So he immediately says ‘Eres hermosa’.”</p><p>David tilted his head, thinking it over. “Which means…?”</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Jack said, a smile playing on his lips, soft and fond and sad. “Not as wordy but it did the job. He was always a charmer, my old man.”</p><p>“So you must take after your mother.”</p><p>The words were out before David could think them through. Thankfully Jack just reached over and bonked him in the head. “Smartass.”</p><p>“A bit,” David allowed. “What happened then?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “He bought her a drink; she found a spot in the shade. Took a good two hours for her Ma and his friends figured out they were late. They all went out to figure out what hell happened. They found the two chattin’ away, drinkin’ colas. They didn’t have to cook that night—the groceries had been baked in the sun.”</p><p>David tried to picture it. Jack’s father, with sweat-soaked hair and sunburn face, with Jack’s broad shoulders and strong jaw, smiling so wide his cheeks dimpled. Jack’s mother, with long dark hair that curled at the bottom, with Jack’s full-lipped smile and crinkled eyes. He imagined them sitting so that their arms were flush, lost in the moment, untouchable in their affection.</p><p>“Pa said he spent almost all his money makin’ up excuses to get back to that market and find her again. She took pity on him. Or maybe she just wanted to make sure he had enough to buy her a ring and some flowers and another ticket to New York. He did. He came back home with a dark tan and a real gem of a wife.” Jack’s smile turned bitter. “But his folks kicked ‘em out when his tan faded and hers didn’t.”</p><p>The image crumbled away, leaving David with a pit in his stomach and an ache in his chest. “Oh.”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Yeah. She uh… well, they had me. They had a few more before me but they all…” he coughed. He wasn’t looking at David anymore. “She got sick. Then she was gone. Then he got sick, then he was gone. But… but we were happy. And they were happy. For a time. I like to think so at least.”</p><p>“I think that they were,” David offered—the only thing he could offer.</p><p>Jack smiled. “Yeah. Pa always talked ‘bout those days like they were special. Best moments of his life. He wasn’t around a lot—he worked hard and folks were happy to work him hard. Harder than they should’ve. Harder than he could manage. But when he was home all he did was tell me stories ‘bout the rails and the guys and complain about Louisiana summers. And her. He always liked to talk ‘bout her.”</p><p>David brought his other leg up. He looped his arms around his legs and leaned forward to rest his chin on his knees. He thought about the greatest triumph and tragedy in Jack’s story.</p><p>“He loved her,” He summarized.</p><p>“He really did,” Jack said softly. He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and asked: “What about yours?”</p><p>David squinted. “Mine?”</p><p>Jack smiled ruefully. “Your folks? How’d they meet?”</p><p>“Oh, right.” It was his turn to be quiet for a moment. “It’s not nearly as exciting as your story.”</p><p>“Tit for tat,” Jack said.</p><p>“You know that’s not–”</p><p>“I say it ‘cause it makes you get in a fuss so I’m definitely usin’ it correctly. <em>You</em> just don’t agree with me about what’s correct. Now come on. Tell me the ol’ Jacobs family love story.”</p><p>David laughed and nudged Jack’s shin with his toe. “Fine. Well, my parents knew each other for most of their lives. They both grew up in Warsaw and attended Shul together.”</p><p>“Aw,” Jack said, chin in his hand, “Childhood romance.”</p><p>David snorted. “Not quite. They knew each other but they weren’t close. They weren’t really aware of each other until they started attending school. Even then, they rarely spoke. It was only when they were teens that they started to notice one another. Kindred spirits and all. They both had similar outlooks and ideas, but their perspectives were different enough that they enjoyed talking to each other. It took a long time. The more time they spent together the more they wanted to spend more time together. And, really, that’s what marriage is, so it was the next logical step.”</p><p>“Huh,” Jack said, tilting his head, considering. “No boom?”</p><p>David smiled. “No boom.”</p><p>Jack frowned, narrowed his eyes, and said: “Nah, I don’t believe it.”</p><p>“I’ll let you take that up with them,” David said. Then, after an appropriately long pause, said: “Of course… that’s my mother’s account of the story.”</p><p>Jack looked at him, confused. Then it dawned on him, and he smiled. “What’s your dad say?”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “He says he fell in love with my mother after they got into a huge argument and she refuted every single one of his points. This meant that he had no choice but to marry her.”</p><p>Jack snorted. “So you take after your mother.”</p><p>“Hey,” David warned.</p><p>Jack raised his hands in surrender, then leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of the couch. “So that was it?”</p><p>“Not quite,” David said. “Apparently every time he tried to talk to her about it, she assumed he wanted to argue some more. This went on for… probably months. Eventually he figured out to shove a bouquet in her face as an opening. They got married soon after.” David laughed. “My mother does <em>not</em> agree that that’s what happened.”</p><p>“Aw, she don’t like that story?”</p><p>“Absolutely not. She argues every time it’s brought up. She says he’s a…” David paused, thinking. “I think ‘fantastical romantic’ is the closest translation. They’ve gone in circles about it since I was old enough to ask them. And the Hochman’s bring it up at least once a year—I think they’re still trying to figure out which story is true. Sarah and I stopped trying years ago. We have no idea who to believe.”</p><p>Jack grinned. “I’d say the fact that they’re arguin’ ‘bout it so much is a point to your dad.”</p><p>David pursed his lips. “…You may have a point.”</p><p>“Bound to happen eventually,” Jack said. “Hey Davey…” Jack asked, a new uncertainty colouring his voice. “Why’d you leave?”</p><p>He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.</p><p>David shook his head. “I don’t…”</p><p>“You never asked?”</p><p>David shrugged. “A long time ago.”</p><p>Back when he was too young to know better, He’d realized all he knew about his mother’s family was the surname scrawled inside their books. He had spent weeks asking her every question that came to mind. He learned she had four brothers. He learned their names—Stefan, Mikhail, Marcel, and Anton. He quickly figured out which one was her favourite. She had denied it, of course, but he knew better. He asked her if her older brothers were angry with her for naming him after her younger brother instead of them. She went very quiet. She told him to ask his father. He did. His father went quiet as well. His father told him it would be better if he stopped asking questions.</p><p>David used to think they didn’t want to talk about it. From what he pieced together he couldn’t fault them for their secrecy. As time passed, he realized that it wasn’t a matter of desire. It was a matter of control. If they could control the story, they could control themselves as they told it.</p><p>The year before they came to America, his parents’ lives had shattered like glass. The memories were embedded in their skin. Some shards were small and shallow, easily picked out, cleaned until they shone once more. Those moments were held up to the light and shared. Others were deeper. Too deep. They bled when they were nudged. Removing them was impossible.</p><p>David sighed deeply. He leaned his head to the side, resting his cheek against the rough cushion. “There was a lot of violence. I don’t know very much about it, really. I only know what I’ve learned from others. Even that has its limitations. And my school doesn’t go into the history of Russian and Polish riots.” He tried for a laugh. It didn’t fit right. He sobered immediately, and continued: “Neither of my parents will talk about it. Which is telling in itself. I know it was targeted at us. At Jewish communities and businesses and… at us. I’m pretty sure people died. I think… I think some of my family died. I don’t think it was the first time.”</p><p>Jack was quiet. He leaned forward, resting his arms on top of his knees. Then he nodded. “Yeah, I think… Elmer’s folks came over ‘cause of that too. But, uh…” he grimaced, “they didn’t make the trip.”</p><p>David nodded. “He told me.”</p><p>“Yeah. So they left?”</p><p>“Soon after. Their families arranged it. They had to wait until after we were born—pregnancy is hard enough as it is; none of them wanted to risk the complications of having twins on a new continent where they might not be able to communicate with the doctor. Or, god forbid, in the middle of the ocean.”</p><p>“They’re smart, your folks,” Jack agreed. “So you two popped out–”</p><p>“<em>Never</em> say <em>that</em> again.”</p><p>“–and your folks bundled you on up and you came on over to join us poor sops on this side of the Atlantic,” Jack finished, grinning unrepentantly.</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “That basically summarizes it.”</p><p>“Well…” Jack pushed his hair back again, eyes far away, “I’m sorry that happened to your folks but… well, is it wrong to say I’m glad it brought you here?”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” David assured him. “I mean…”</p><p>He understood what Jack was trying to say. He was intimately familiar with the conflict that arose in trying to say it. David often looked at the joy in his life and thought about the sacrifices that allowed him to experience such happiness. He thought about the happiness his family had traded for his. For his siblings. For their future. It was difficult to reconcile.</p><p>And as far as Jack…</p><p>Since the dam had broken earlier that month, revealing the blame that still churned inside him, Jack had been more open about his past. Brutally so. In days that followed, Jack would throw out heartbreaking truths with careful neutrality—“They didn’t give me food for almost a week one time; don’t know if it was punishment or if they forgot” and “sometimes Kloppman yells and I can’t move”. Every time it felt like a test. David was not prepared for it. David was committed to succeed. He had. The tests turned to confessions, and then to stories, and then to conversations. David knew Jack wasn’t sharing everything. That was alright. He knew what Jack wanted him to know. The revelations didn’t feel ground-breaking anymore. It was more like Jack was becoming clearer—David had not known how obscured his vision of Jack was until he had earned this clarity. The picture was the same, though, just a little less fuzzy. And, yes, much of Jack told him was heartbreaking. But in having the freedom to share the darkness Jack also shared the joy. He told David about learning to be a newsie, about meeting Medda. And all of that… all of those moments somehow led to this one.</p><p>Or perhaps they didn’t.</p><p>Perhaps it didn’t matter.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s connected quite like that,” David settled on saying. “I’m happy to have met you. I realize that we met because a lot of bad things happened but… the same can be said about the good things. The good things may have even had a greater impact on us than the bad things but we don’t think about them because they’re good or… I don’t know. I think I’m just babbling at this point.”</p><p>“No,” Jack said hoarsely. “Keep going?”</p><p>“Oh! Um… okay.” David thought for a moment, tipping his head back in consideration. “I guess I’m just trying to say that… saying that we are happy now doesn’t mean that the hurts that brought us to this point were meaningless. Or necessary. They just were. Same with the joys. I don’t know what would happen if the moments we wished were different or didn’t happen… didn’t or were different. We’d need to live two lives to know. All I can say for certain is that I am glad we met. And I’m glad we’re…” he swallowed heavily “I’m really glad we’re friends.”</p><p>It was a rather lame finish. Anticlimactic.</p><p>Jack didn’t seem to mind. His smile was small and sincere—David felt like an intruder to witness such genuine warmth. He had no words to describe how it felt to be the cause of it.</p><p>“Me too, Davey,” Jack said quietly.</p><p>Then Jack kicked his shin.</p><p>David wasn’t going to take that lying down—or sitting down, as it were—so he kicked back.</p><p>It degraded from there, feet in stomachs and faces, giggling manically but trying to keep quiet. They settled after a while, still on the edge of giddy laughter.</p><p>“You’re really somethin’, Davey, you know that?” Jack said, a gasping edge to his voice.</p><p>David chuckled, just as breathless. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”</p><p>“Course it is,” Jack said.</p><p>He touched David’s foot with his. It wasn’t a nudge this time, though. He held it there, toes over David’s. David could feel the heat of his foot through their socks. He felt the contact all the way up his leg, through his stomach, his chest. He was dizzy with it.</p><p>Jack tipped his head to rest against the couch and wound his arms around his knees. “You’re somethin’ special, Davey.”</p><p>The change in position put him directly under the light above them. The light mapped his face out in structured planes, like the marble busts David saw in the halls of the Met and in the offices of his professors. Shadows caught on the lines of his smiles and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, softening his expression with untouchable fondness. Highlights caught the cords of muscles in his forearms and shoulders. If David wanted to, he could count every curl on Jack’s head. The light caught in his hair, rendering it in deep browns and gold. The edges were almost white. It was like he was glowing.</p><p>Jack had always been handsome, but in this light he was beautiful.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>His breath caught and stayed there.</p><p><em>It doesn’t feel like a boom,</em> he thought wildly.</p><p>There was nothing particularly startling about the realization. It was not a shock. It did not feel sudden.</p><p>But it didn’t really feel like a logical progression, either.</p><p>It was somewhere in between. It felt like gravity. It felt inevitable. It felt like falling into place. It felt like it had been there forever. How long had it hung ahead of him, out of notice, out of reach?</p><p>There was nothing spectacular about it. It was just a quiet realization. An <em>oh.</em></p><p>Followed immediately by <em>oh no.</em></p><p>“–avey? Davey?”</p><p>David snapped back to attention as Jack snapped his fingers. “What?”</p><p>Jack chuckled. “Jesus, where’d ya go there?”</p><p>“What?” was all he could ask again.</p><p>“Called your name three times there and nothin’. Not sure I’ve ever seen you so out of it.” Jack smiled. It was one of his kind smiles, but it had that teasing edge—the slightest tick of a smirk and peek of his teeth, not quite wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eye, but the potential was there.</p><p>When had he learned all of Jack’s smiles?</p><p>“Um,” he said. He tried to say. His tongue didn’t fit right. Or his words. His words didn’t fit right in his mouth. No, that didn’t make sense.</p><p>“Davey?” he startled back to attention. The smile had dipped at the corners. “You sure you're okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said quickly. “Just tired.”</p><p>“You keep sayin’ that.” Jack said. His smile turned concerned. It started to slip away. “You know you can tell me–”</p><p>“I know,” David interrupted.</p><p>Maybe later he’d be able to laugh at the irony. If Jack had tried to tell him a day earlier—minutes earlier—he would have let him finish the sentence. He would have agreed wholeheartedly. He would have thought he <em>could</em> tell Jack anything. He would have revelled in the fact that he had a friend he could rely on, could confide in. But now, said just as David realized just how much he could <em>never</em> tell Jack, the words felt like a punch to the gut.</p><p>“Davey?” He looked up. Jack was staring at him. Concerned. “You sure you’re good?”</p><p>David swallowed against the sick feeling building in his throat. “Yeah,” he lied. “I’m fine. I just… I don’t know. It’s been a long day.”</p><p>Jack smiled again. The kind and slightly worried one. <em>Fuck.</em> “You’ve had a lot of those. How ‘bout I walk ya home. Make sure you don’t end up fallin’ to sleep on the street.”</p><p>He forced a laugh. “No thanks. I can manage.”</p><p>“If you’re sure…”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Jack flinched back.</p><p>David was going to be sick.</p><p>Jack frowned. “I… sorry.”</p><p>David shook his head. “No. No I’m sorry. I didn’t–”</p><p>He hadn’t meant to be harsh with <em>Jack.</em></p><p>“I just should get going,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?”</p><p>“Sure Davey,” Jack opened his mouth. He closed it. He smiled. It hurt to look at. “Night.”</p><p>“Goodnight” David answered.</p><p>He pulled on his shoes.</p><p>He stood up.</p><p>He walked back to his things.</p><p>He put on his scarf. Coat. Hat. Gloves.</p><p>He grabbed his bag.</p><p>He walked to the front of the theatre.</p><p>He waved goodbye to the company and crew.</p><p>He stepped out of the door.</p><p>He ran.</p><p>His feet carried him through the streets, slipping and skidding in their haste. He paid no attention to the streets or turns they took him down. They knew their way back home. They knew it from months of practice, from him making his way through the New York streets he’d never trekked and barely been able to navigate for over sixteen years. Now the streets were familiar, second nature, a second home. He knew this way so well—Bowery to Baxter, ten-minute walk, seven-minute run, six-minute sprint, fifteen-minute dawdle. He knew it from days selling in the area, from countless evenings spent backstage, from their first day, running home with Les so that they weren’t late for dinner and didn’t worry Mama and yet David’s mind had been stuck on the boy with broad shoulders and sad eyes and a wide smile and–</p><p>Fuck. <em>Fuck.</em></p><p>It was cold. Bitterly cold. Painfully cold. The snow pelted his face, biting shards of glass. He ducked his head against the wind, hiding his face into his scarf. The wind still stung his eyes, unrelenting. His eyes were burning because of the wind. It had to be the wind. It was because it was cold. Tears welled because of the cold. He was trembling– no, <em>shivering</em> because of the cold. His fingers were numb because of the cold. He couldn’t breathe because of the cold. Everything felt insurmountable because of the cold. He was overreacting because of the–</p><p>Was he?</p><p>
  <em>No. No, don’t think about that.</em>
</p><p>Everything felt frayed. Fraying. Unwinding itself right in front of him. Tangling. His thoughts felt so tangled. Tattered. Shattering to pieces–</p><p>His shoulder rammed against something.</p><p>“Oy!”</p><p>He flinched away.</p><p>“David?”</p><p>He looked up.</p><p>He knew the man before him. He knew his short and heavy stature and thick grey hair. He knew those tired eyes, made huge by his spectacles. He used to steal the spectacles off his face when he was young enough to sit on his lap. He used to put them on crooked and looked around the table, squinting at how the glass turned his family into blurry lumps of colour. He remembered large callused hands plucking them off his face, pinching his cheek, and saying “That’s the sort of view I have to put up with every day, David!”</p><p>David took a shuddering breath and said, evenly as he could: “Hello Mr. Hochman.”</p><p>“Where are you heading off to in such a rush?” his neighbour—the closest thing to an uncle David had ever had—asked.</p><p>He swallowed and looked around. They were standing just in front of their tenement building. He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Home.”</p><p>“Right, of course!” Mr. Hochman laughed, shaking his head. He was always fast to admit his foolishness and faults. David admired him for it.</p><p>He was also horribly attentive.</p><p>“And what are you running from?”</p><p>“Nothing,” David said quickly.</p><p>Mr. Hochman frowned and shook his head. “Now, David, I’ve known you since you were this high!” He leaned down stiffly and held his hand below his knee. “I know when you’re trying to hide something. Come now. Are those boys from school giving you trouble again?”</p><p>“No,” David lied.</p><p>“And those… what is it they’re called again? The paper children?”</p><p>“Newsies,” David corrected. “And no. No, I just… I just lost track of time. And I should… my parents might be worried.”</p><p>Mr. Hochman patted his shoulder. “Your parents were perfectly well when I left them just a moment ago. I’m more concerned about your worrying. All this stress isn’t healthy. And now you’re coming home all in a tizzy.”</p><p>“I’m not,” David said—again, too quickly.</p><p>Mr. Hochman gave him the same unimpressed look in response. “David.”</p><p>“I–” he looked down at the slush under his foot. It was starting to seep into his boot. “It’s nothing. I had a good night. You don’t need to worry.”</p><p>“David…” he looked up. Mr. Hochman was squinting at him. His lips were twitching. “Are you <em>blushing?</em>”</p><p>His heart lurched.</p><p>“Why... David Jacobs... could it be…?”</p><p>His heart thudded loudly in his ears. “What?”</p><p>“I know that look! You’re smitten!”</p><p>His heart dropped to his stomach. “I– no–”</p><p>“You are!” Mr. Hochman crowed, going a little jig. “You can’t hide it from me. I remember that autumn you mooned over young Miss Finley. It’s been a good while but I still recognize that look in your eyes.”</p><p>“I–” David swallowed through his tight throat. “Mr. Hochman-”</p><p>“You’ve taken your time, haven’t you?” Mr. Hochman laughed brightly. “Believe me, you have no idea how many times I have had to tell your father to calm down and let things take their course. I just kept telling him ‘Be patient! The first heartbreak is hard to get over.’ And you were always a sensitive lad when you were young.”</p><p>He was going to be sick. “Right.”</p><p>“What’s with the face?” Mr. Hochman demanded. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, David.”</p><p>“I know,” he lied. “I just…” He swallowed again “it’s embarrassing.”</p><p>“Oh, David.” Mr. Hochman smiled kindly—so kindly, he’d always been so <em>kind.</em> “It’s not. Trust me, when you’re older you’ll see that. Ah, I remember being young. The slightest whiff of emotion and I thought I was going to explode. Oh, I’m reminiscing. But, really, I shouldn’t have pushed.”</p><p>David shook his head. It didn’t help with the dizziness. “You weren’t–”</p><p>“I was,” Mr. Hochman insisted. “But you don’t have to worry. It’ll be our secret.”</p><p>David nodded. He did not trust his voice.</p><p>Mr. Hochman clapped him on the shoulder. “Up you go then. I won’t keep you any longer. Goodnight, David! And,” he leaned in to whisper: “Good luck. And whoever this girl is, I doubt she deserves you.”</p><p>David nodded again and forced a smile. “Thank you.”</p><p>Mr. Hochman beamed. He gave David’s shoulder one last squeeze, then carried off into the night, whistling a cheery tune.</p><p>David remained where he was, shivering. Trembling.</p><p>His feet carried him to the fire escape and up. They climbed to the roof.  They gave out under him. His hands stung as they caught him. He’d forgotten to put on his gloves.</p><p>The sky was remarkably clear; pitch black, wide and empty, except for a few diaphanous clouds drifting through the sky. The moon hung above him, glowing cold. It was a sliver away from full. Waning crescent. A cloud drifted in front of it.</p><p>David screwed his eyes shut. His tears were hot on his cheeks.</p><p>
  <em>Oh no.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Words cannot describe the joy I felt when I checked the moon calendar and confirmed that there was in fact a waning crescent on November 19, 1899. Special thanks to the moon for making my metaphors historically accurate.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Repression: November 26, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: period typical homophobia, internalized homophobia, implied/referenced antisemitism</p><p>Translations in the end note</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Repression</strong> <em>n.</em> <strong>1. a.</strong> the action or process of repressing; the state of being repressed <strong>b.</strong> an instance of repressing; <strong>2. a.</strong> a mental process by which distressing thoughts, memories, or impulses that may give rise to anxiety are excluded from consciousness and left to operate in the unconscious; <strong>b.</strong> an item so excluded [English, repress + ion, from Latin <em>repressus,</em> the perfect passive participle of <em>reprimō</em> (“I repress”)]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>November 26, 1899</strong>
</p><p>David couldn’t identify the first time he looked at a boy the wrong way.</p><p>Not really.</p><p>Sometimes he tried to. In the moments that followed a too-long glance at a smile, when he felt the brush of a hand linger and burn, when his heart would lurch and he couldn’t catch his breath, he would sort through the cluttered catalogue of potential infatuations.</p><p>He remembered the young man that sat three rows ahead of him in Shul, gone before David had learned his name. He used to look at the broad lines of his shoulders and wonder if he would ever get that strong. He used to peek up at the man’s sharp features and wonder if he would grow up to be handsome. Maybe that wasn’t all he had wondered.</p><p>He remembered how his heart would skip a beat when he saw Benny and Becca waiting at the corner, their rosy cheeks dimpling when they caught sight of him and Sarah. He knew what half of those feelings meant—his father still smirked at any mention he made of Becca, and he’d smiled very wide the first time David had slipped up and called her <em>Becca</em> in front of him. But David knew she wasn’t the only one that he looked forward to seeing in the mornings. And she wasn’t the only one who’s loss he ached for in the years that followed.</p><p>He remembered the warmth that blossomed in his chest on his first day at Barnett, the first time his eyes met James’s. They were so green he forgot how to breathe. He remembered how James smiled at him like he was the most important person in the world. It was that warmth and James’s earnest promise to “introduce him to the fellas” that convinced David to go to the back corner of the courtyard after school. That afternoon he’d found himself on the ground, shaking, nose bloody, ribs sore, chest aching, burning with rage at the things they’d said about him and his faith and his <em>family–</em></p><p>Anyways.</p><p>That warmth had died a quick death but he could not dismiss it.</p><p>There were many moments David could recall. None of them felt quite right. No moment was clear enough to single out. David had always been an ember, not a spitfire. Sparks took time to catch. He only seemed to recognize his feelings for what they might have been when he was looking back on them.</p><p>He supposed he could name one as the first if he set his mind to it. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was picking things apart and rebuilding them, remaking them, distorting them, until they were terrifying. Until they hurt more. Until he couldn’t tell the difference between analysis and invention. But to do such a thing felt like a lie. The murky view of retrospect blurred the line between genuine and contrived affection.</p><p>It was easy to look back on the flutter of new friendships and call that longing. It was easy to recall idealized images of all the boys he’d looked up to and wonder whether he had wanted to be them or be with them. Back then he did not know how important it was to divide the two.</p><p>David supposed the other issue was that couldn’t identify when he first learned that he shouldn’t—could <em>never</em>—look at a boy the wrong way.</p><p>It wasn’t quite that he’d always known. Even though he did to some extent. Every marriage he had been dragged to had a bride and a groom. He’d grown up surrounded by neat pairs of Misters-and-Missus. Families had fathers and mothers. If they did not have both then it was very sad; those families needed to be supported and mended.</p><p>But he’d thought that love…</p><p>When Mama and Tata and Rabbi Amos spoke of love, they spoke of it as though it extended across all people, across the whole world and beyond it. Love was in and within every lesson they gave.</p><p>David used to think love was the greatest thing he could ever give or achieve.</p><p>He had been sitting outside on the lowest step, hidden from view by the old men’s long black coats. This was many years ago, perhaps even before Les. His mother had gone in to speak with Rabbi Amos about arranging the <em>brit milah</em>—oh, that was right, it <em>had</em> been before Les—and tasked the men with watching him. They’d agreed. They had not been paying him much attention. He was fine with that. He was happy to write his newest word—<em>fortuitous,</em> why did he remember that?—in the dirt at their feet while he listened to them whisper about the finely dressed men that passed with Yiddish words that David had not yet learned.</p><p>He was yanked up by the arm. Mama announced that they were leaving.</p><p>Before they left, though, she had said something like <em>how dare you speak in such a way in front of my son.</em> He did not remember her exact words.</p><p>He remembered her expression.</p><p>She’d glared at the men. Her eyes were so cold that David had been scared. He had not known his mother could lose her warmth. He had thought it was her most inherent and inimitable quality.</p><p>With her hand on his shoulder, she'd steered him away at a pace that made him stumble. Before they turned the corner to where Tata and Sarah were waiting, she had knelt down and said—he remembered this exactly—<em>David, you are not to repeat a word they said. They were being rude. What they said was very inappropriate. Such things should not have been said by them and they are never to be said by you.</em></p><p>He had agreed. He had promised.</p><p>It took him too long to realize that her disapproval may have not been about the words the men used but what the words referred to.</p><p>David did not remember when he first looked at a boy the wrong way or when he learned that there were wrong ways to look at boys. He realized the potential and the risk simultaneously. The possibility and the danger. The knowledge dawned on him like the sun rising on a cloudy day, casting the world in a new light—a grey light, a cold light—that washed away the vibrant ignorance of childhood.</p><p>So, no, David could not identify when he first looked at a boy the wrong way, but he learned to identify when he was about to.</p><p>He caught his stolen glances before he made them. When his heart began to leap, he pressed it down to stillness. Urges for affection were reinterpreted as platonic. He focused on his family and his future and whatever else he could use to fill the voids he dug into himself. He became an expert in distraction.</p><p>His father often joked that David would never find love if he never looked up from his books.</p><p>It had worked so far.</p><p>But now…</p><p>It wasn’t that it was new. It wasn’t. The fondness his heart harboured for Jack was already so deep; it ached too much to be a burgeoning affection. He had nursed these feelings quietly for months, letting them burn stronger, tending to the longing with each shared moment, each reciprocated smile, each hard-earned laugh, until the heat grew to such a level that he recognized the warmth, until it was burning so wildly that it was impossible to smother out. He knew it had been long coming.</p><p>He just didn’t know how he had missed it.</p><p>A storm had built on the horizon, dark heavy clouds preparing to mount their assault, but David had been facing the other way. It was only when it blotted out the sun that he finally turned around.</p><p>The world had shifted, tilted, and he hadn’t noticed until he lost his balance and fell hard.</p><p>No, that wasn’t it.</p><p>This wasn’t inclement. It wasn’t inevitable. He could have—<em>should have</em>—stopped himself. He knew how.</p><p><em>At what cost?</em> No. No, don’t think about that.</p><p>When David was eight, he had almost been trampled. A horse had broken from its handler. He hadn’t looked before he crossed the street. He was saved by a passerby’s quick reflexes—which was fortunate, as David’s had failed him as soon as he saw the charging animal. He’d never found out the man’s name. He wished he had. Maybe he would have been able to pull him out of the way this time, too.</p><p>That didn’t even make sense.</p><p>He shut his eyes tight and rubbed them. He took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes and the thrumming pain in his skull.</p><p>He was so tired.</p><p><em>You keep sayin’,</em> Jack had said.</p><p><em>You don’t have to worry about me, Jack,</em> David had told him in return. What a lie that had turned out to be.</p><p>He let his arms fall back against the blankets with a thud. He blinked the stars from his eyes and looked up at the cracks that lined their ceiling.</p><p>He had startled awake some time ago. His dream had left him breathless, limbs thrumming with energy, mind circling at a dizzying speed, nothing new to consider, memories corroding under scrutiny, eyes burning, lids heavy, fatigue ever present but unsolvable. The lingering fear tangled his thoughts like loose thread.</p><p>It was far from the first night it had happened.</p><p>Sunday: returning home freezing cold, no idea how long he’d been on the roof. Mama had been white as a ghost as she bundled him up. Sarah and Les had woken up at the sound of her panicking. They’d demanded answers. David had lied.</p><p>Monday: he was mistaken. Yes, that was it. It was just because they had been talking about romance and it had been a long day and he’d been tired—he was always so tired—and that made him think– then he saw Jack on the corner, yelling a loose approximate of the headline. He’d taken his cap off despite the cold and was using it to motion at the crowds. His ears were bright red. His hair was ruffled. He was smiling. David’s heart jolted so hard it hurt. <em>Fuck.</em></p><p>Tuesday: jumping at the slightest motion or noise, stomach churning, scraping by by treating every moment as something to escape. Les looked at him like he’d gone mad. Sarah looked at him with suspicion. Jack looked so worried.</p><p>Wednesday: roiling anger, burning frustration, everything too much and not enough. He didn’t snap—he could never snap, he wasn’t allowed to snap, he had no idea what would happen if he snapped—but he was snippy. That’s what Race called him, cutting their lesson short for the day. Jack didn’t say anything about it. Jack didn’t say much of anything.</p><p>Thursday: exhausted beyond belief, falling asleep at the table. Sarah had agreed to tell Jack he couldn’t make it to… he wasn’t sure what he’d agreed to. Tata had called down Mr. Hochman who kept winking when he didn’t look concerned. Mama fussed even more when she saw how pale he’d gotten.</p><p>Friday: Crutchie had pulled him aside. He was selling on a different street. Caught them when they were walking home from school. Sarah took Les ahead. Crutchie asked if there was something going on. Jack had said something. He must have. David hadn’t stuck around long enough to see any of the others that week. Why would they have reason to worry if Jack hadn’t specifically mentioned that David was acting weird, suspicious, odd–</p><p>David told him he was fine. David told him he had to go home.</p><p>And today.</p><p>It would be yesterday now…</p><p>Jack had been selling by the synagogue. He must have made a deal with Mush. He had waved as soon as he caught sight of the family. David had waved back. Jack started making his way over. David ducked inside.</p><p>If Sarah had been suspicious before…</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>It didn’t matter what happened during the day. Every night was the same.</p><p>Collapsing into bed. Jolting awake at an unknown hour. Staying awake until the blackness turned grey and blue. Every night he ran through the past few days, then the past few weeks, then the past few months, trying to identify every sign he’d dismissed. That quickly turned to a spiral, getting lost in winding roads of memory. It was a useless endeavor.</p><p>But when had he ever done anything useful?</p><p>Can’t think about that either.</p><p>He shut his eyes tight and turned to his side, pressing his face deep into his pillow.</p><p>As it always did—as it had for weeks and months—David’s mind turned to Jack.</p><p>The afternoon before the rally, after Jack had agreed to rejoin the strike, David had read Katherine's article out loud. They’d been walking back from Medda’s. Les had pulled Katherine ahead, literally, to point out all the neat things in the shop windows. Jack stayed at David’s side, so close he could feel his arm as it brushed against his, hot even in the sweltering summer air. Jack had thrown his shirt back on over his striped undershirt. He’d been in such a rush it was uneven. He hadn’t bothered to correct it, just unbuttoned it slightly to make it less obvious. The left side of his collar hung higher, flopping down to show the line of his collarbone. David had looked away sharply and started reading, unprompted, just to distract himself.  </p><p>How did he not realize–</p><p>Jack scoffed and called him a liar when he came to the second sentence—"with the swagger of one twice his age, armed with nothing more than a few nuggets of truth, Jack Kelly stands ready to face the behemoth Pulitzer”. He didn’t think Katherine would write something so complimentary. David didn’t know how she couldn't. He didn't know how anyone could Jack as anything less than a hero. Devotion ebbed in every word he spoke in favour of the newsies—the family—he loved. He met everyone’s eyes square, daring them to challenge his authority, seeing them for who they were and accepting them for it, giving them the assurance that whatever they said he was going to listen and he was going to understand. He was a leader, through and through. He was a confident smirk that turned to a comforting smile. He was a burning passion and a warm glow.</p><p>And yet David still didn’t–</p><p>David had assured him that Katherine probably made it up for the benefit of the story. Jack’s mouth had fallen open in shock and he yelled up at Katherine and Les about how “Davey here just made a joke! Les Jacobs you didn’t tell me your brother could make jokes!” Les had rolled his eyes so hard that David and Katherine burst out laughing. David could barely see through his tears as Jack kept going on about how all he gets is disrespect, and how they’re all so mean to him, and how he was supposed to be this important strike leader and how would he ever manage that if everyone around him was sassing him all the time? David choked back his giggles enough to point out that leaders should probably have a thick skin and assured him that Pulitzer probably had someone insult him on the hour to ensure he was properly prepared. Jack laughed so hard at the idea that they had to stop for a minute, ducking to the side, drawing incredulous stares from passersby as they tried to control their giggles. David looked at Jack’s red face and sparkling eyes and never wanted the moment to end.</p><p>But even with that–</p><p>The conversation had moved on from there until they came to the lodging house. Katherine had left to meet with someone. Les hurried inside. Jack had hesitated at the door. David had asked him if he was alright. Jack plastered on a smile and said “course, Davey.” It wasn’t until later—standing on the roof, staring Jack down, recognizing him as someone else shouldering so many burdens he thought he would collapse—that David had any clue what the pause had been about. It took far longer to realize how long Jack had been carrying his guilt and shame and fear and anger. It took far longer for him to recognize how heavy they had been. Jack was a leader by nature and not by choice. Or perhaps that was too simple; Jack would always choose to fight for those he loved, he would always be there to support those that asked for help, but with that drive came expectations. With the promise of support came trust that you would always provide it. Trust was heavy. David knew that now. But he would take every one of Jack’s loads if he could once again see Jack’s eyes shining as he talked about Santa Fe skies, voice free of the restlessness that used to colour such conversations. Now, unburdened and thus not trying to escape, Jack just smiled as he pointed out how the setting sun coloured the smokestacks. David gave them a cursory glance, but he couldn’t focus. Jack held all his attention. They'd known each long enough that David had stopped counting the days, and yet he could still be surprised by the twitch of Jack's mouth and how warm his eyes looked in the evening glow.</p><p>And still.</p><p>It wasn’t inevitable but it also wasn’t unexpected. Jack was handsome. Everyone knew that. Jack was talented. Incredibly talented. He was so much smarter than he gave himself credit for and credited others so generously that they had no choice but to live up to his expectations. He made others better. He made <em>David</em> better. David could not imagine going back to a life without Jack. He didn’t put much effort into the task of course, seeing as he did not want to imagine a life without Jack. Jack was his closest friend, the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. All of David’s earlier infatuations had developed from far less.</p><p>That was the problem, really; it was so unbelievably, mind-bogglingly, stupidly obvious. And David had dismissed it as admiration. As the thrill of finding friendship.</p><p><em>The thrill of finding friendship.</em> David stifled his groan with his pillow and screwed his eyes tighter. He was such an idiot.</p><p>Far beneath him the street was quiet, just the stray drift of sirens echoing on the wind. Inside it was quiet too; the whistle of the wind through the crack in the window frame, the odd creak from his parents bedroom as his mother tossed and turned, his siblings’ breathing was soft and slow. They weren’t quite matched in their inhales and exhales, Sarah’s breaths a little deeper, throwing off the timing. They suggested synchronism but did not achieve it.</p><p>David was still breathing too quickly.</p><p>He rolled over to face Les. Their faces were so close that David could feel the puffs of air from Les's slightly parted lips. In sleep, his brother had moved closer to David. Sarah was warmer than David. While Les always curled up close to her on winter nights, her residual heat would grow too much for him to handle, prompting him to scooch closer to David’s side. It was dark but David’s eyes had adjusted some time ago. He could see the furrow in Les’s brow, the dark line of his lashes on his cheeks. He could just make out the line of his nose—it was sharper now than it used to be. David remembered how small his nose had been when he was a baby. He used to trace his finger down it, touch soft. Les would always scrunch up his face, little wrinkles forming on the bridge. He still did it when David poked him or when Sarah teased him or when Jack ruffled his hair–</p><p>David breathed in shakily and closed his eyes again.</p><p>For the first time in a long time, things were going <em>well.</em> His family was healthy and whole—or, as close as they’d ever be to being so. He had friends. He had friends close enough that they were practically family.</p><p>He couldn’t lose them.</p><p>And, more importantly, he had responsibilities. Across the city there were children that now looked to him for guidance. The newsies had taken him in when he needed it and gave him more than he knew he needed. And they asked him to fight for them in return, to ensure that they had a tomorrow and maybe, if he managed it, had a future.</p><p>And then there was <em>his</em> future.</p><p>Except it wasn’t his future anymore. Or at least it wasn’t just his future anymore. It was his parents', who worked tirelessly, wearing themselves down to bent backs and crooked legs and knobby fingers, in the hopes that he might be saved some of their pain. It was their neighbours', who stopped him in the street and asked him how his classes were, who told him he was doing well by them, who laughed about how it looked like the American dream might not be a pipe dream, huh David? It was his friends', who teased him about his uniform and fancy language and careful pronunciation but always asked how his courses were going. It was his sister's, who used to twist her face with envy when David talked about his classes, who had cried when she got the letter from Mrs. Aldridge in the mail, who depended on David to get her the additional materials from the Barnett library because of course the teaching college test wouldn’t reference material available to the public. It was his brother's, who was due to take the scholarship exam in April, the one that David desperately hoped he would fail.</p><p>He was already slipping. He’d always had to worry about James and Robbie—though they were both absolute bastards, they were, unfortunately, intelligent bastards. But now that they had decided to move from borrowing his notes to coercing his help with their translations the gap between them was shrinking ever smaller. And his distraction in the last week had shown. Whatever sort of leniency his teachers had pretended to have was gone. He had to be perfect. It wasn’t enough to meet expectations anymore. He had to exceed them. That was the only way he’d pass.</p><p>He wasn’t allowed to fail.</p><p>And yet he could feel it slipping away. It had always been hard to hold onto, a desperate grip on a tenuous thread. As he was pulled in different directions his grip had loosened. That couldn’t happen. And he could not risk anything pulling him further.</p><p>There was so much at risk.</p><p>Except…</p><p>It really was the only course of action. It was the safe one, the smart one. It wouldn’t even hurt if he did it correctly.</p><p>He was late to the task, but he supposed he would just have to deal with this the way he had dealt with it every other time.</p><p>By shutting it the hell down.</p><p>..........</p><p>“Look, I’m just saying–”</p><p>“Yes, I understand that, Sarah, my issue is with <em>what</em> you’re saying.”</p><p>“It’ll just be for a day, David. You don’t have to be so dramatic.”</p><p>“I’m not being–”</p><p>“You are.”</p><p>“<em>Les.</em>”</p><p>“See! Les agrees with me!”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter; <em>he</em> isn’t the one you’re trying to replace.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to replace you!”</p><p>“What would you call it, then?”</p><p>“Substitution.”</p><p>“That’s a form of replacement!”</p><p>“Oh my god, David, would you just <em>think</em> for a minute. You’re obviously exhausted–”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“<em>Les.</em>”</p><p>“–and probably ill and it’s freezing cold. You need a break and I’m prepared to give you one, so if you would let go of your pride for one minute–”</p><p>“This isn’t about my pride! This is about making sure we can afford food. And fuel. And <em>rent</em>”</p><p>“It’s selling newspapers. You yell the headline. You take their penny. You wish them a good evening. It’s not that difficult.”</p><p>“Rude.”</p><p>The three of them looked up at the interruption. They’d apparently arrived at the gates of the distribution yard. Crutchie and Katherine were standing just outside them, to the side, waiting. Their eyes were very wide.</p><p>“What’s goin’ on?” Crutchie asked, eyes darting from David to Sarah to Les and back to David.</p><p>“Nothing,” David said quickly, “Come on.”</p><p>Sarah huffed a loud sigh. “<em>David.</em>”</p><p>“Nisht yetst,” he hissed before grabbing Les and steering him away from his sister.</p><p>“She’s gonna be real mad later,” Les pointed out, yanking himself out of David’s grip.</p><p>“And I’ll deal with that later.”</p><p>He ducked around the corner and waited. After a few moments Crutchie caught up. He gave David a distantly unamused look.</p><p>“Sorry,” David said. “Just… needed to get away.”</p><p>Crutchie raised a brow but shrugged. “Been on the other side of your sister’s arguments enough times to know that was your best option. You wanna explain what that was about?”</p><p>Before David could even think of an answer, Les piped up: “Sarah wanted to sell for David today because he’s sick.”</p><p>“I’m not sick, though,” David corrected.</p><p>“You sure?” Crutchie said, scanning him over. “You look like shit.”</p><p>“Thanks,” David drawled.</p><p>“Seriously, Davey, ain’t your Saturdays supposed to be about rest?”</p><p>“That’s a bit of a simplification.”</p><p>Crutchie rolled his eyes. “Okay. Still, you sleep a wink since Thursday?”</p><p>“Yes,” David said.</p><p>An arm came around his shoulder, warm on his cold neck, heavy as it pulled him down to a slouch.</p><p>He didn’t even have to look.</p><p>“Two winks?” Jack asked, shaking him gently.</p><p>David forced a smile. “That might be pushing it.”</p><p>“See, Crutchie,” Jack said, the hand that wasn’t burning an imprint on David’s collarbone coming up to wag his finger. “The trick with Davey is gettin’ the question right. He’s a sneaky one. Won’t lie but he’ll twist things ‘round on you.”</p><p>“Right,” David said, pushing Jack off, ignoring how the words made his stomach churn. “Les did you still want to sell with Crutchie today?”</p><p>“Sure,” Les said. He put one hand on his hip and looked up at David, wagging his finger in a manner not dissimilar to the one Jack had employed only a moment earlier. “No fainting.” He turned to Jack and did the same. “Don’t let him faint.”</p><p>“Aye aye, shortstack!” Jack said, saluting with a click of his heels.</p><p>Les nodded sternly before smiling and speeding off.</p><p>“Les!” David called.</p><p>“I got ‘im,” Crutchie said, “you just listen to your brother. Meet you back at the gates.”</p><p>“Sure,” Jack agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Hey, don’t forget about Small’s shiver trick.”</p><p>Crutchie winked, then hurried after Les, who was waiting impatiently on the opposite corner.</p><p>“Shiver trick?” David asked as Jack started them towards their spot for the day.</p><p>“You don’t wanna know,” Jack assured him. “And I don’t wanna spoil it. Les is gonna wanna tell you later. He’s gonna love it.”</p><p>“I’m sure he will,” he agreed with a laugh. “How’s the headline.”</p><p>“Pretty good. You see the story ‘bout the Franklin syndicate already?”</p><p>“Broke on Friday, right?”</p><p>“Yep. It’s still got legs. Haven't caught that Miller guy yet.”</p><p>“Are people still interested, then?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s pretty good. And there’s a bunch of details to the story so we can get those workin’ to drum up buyers. Also, if you go faintin’ that’s sure to get us some pity sales.”</p><p>David sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to faint.”</p><p>“You sure? 'Cause from where I'm standin' it looked like your a breeze away from keeling over.”</p><p>David ducked his head into his scarf. He knew the note in Jack’s voice; he didn’t need to look up to see his uncertain frown.</p><p>A hand wrapped around his bicep and pulled him to the side. The tug was gentle, but David let it cary him to the side of the street. They were close to the edge of the building but Jack had stopped them just short. Beside them a small mound of ice had formed, the result of a steady drip from the upper moulding. It wasn’t a bad drip so the owners never bothered to take care of it. They trusted everyone else would take care where they stepped. It wasn’t as bad as the one north of the lodging house, on the road David always took to Bond Street library. One of the buildings had a broken drainpipe that always flooded the alley and poured out into the street. It was a horrible hazard in the winter months. This little mound of ice was nothing compared to that.</p><p>“Look… Davey…”</p><p>David supposed there was no time like the present.</p><p>He looked up from the tiny ice mound, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to say–</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>David blinked, startled. “Sorry, what?”</p><p>Jack shrugged awkwardly, hands once again in his pockets. “Sorry.”</p><p>Well that didn’t clear things up. “For what?”</p><p>“About… you know.” Jack took one of his hands out of his pocket and gestured south. “At Medda’s.”</p><p>David just felt more confused, especially considering the Bowery theatre was to the north east of them. “What about Medda’s?”</p><p>“I just…” Jack sighed loudly and tucked his hand back into his pocket. “You know you can just forget it, right?”</p><p>David lost all the air in his lungs</p><p>“I mean–” Jack continued on quickly, looking out in the street and down at the ground and everywhere except David “–I get that it was all a lot and… and I didn’t wanna go makin’ you… I dunno. So we can just forget it. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”</p><p>David swallowed heavily, but his voice was still dry when he lied and said: “Jack, I’m sorry. I really am tired. And I have no idea what you are talking about.”</p><p>Jack peeked up hesitantly. “You know. At Medda’s.”</p><p>David swallowed again. “Yes.” His tone was steady. He was going to have to give Mr. Wright a hug for all the times he yelled at David about the slightest tremble in his voice, which was awful news because Mr. Wright was an asshole. “I got that part.”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Right.”</p><p>“Right," David agreed. "So?”</p><p>“So…” Jack drew the word out long, shrugging as he did so. “So I’m sorry.”</p><p>“But…” David shook his head. None of this made any sense. “But <em>I’m</em> sorry.”</p><p>Jack squinted. “Why are <em>you</em> sorry?”</p><p><em>So many reasons.</em> David frowned and ducked his head. “Because I’ve been… you know.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “’cause of me.”</p><p>David looked up sharply. “What? No!”</p><p>“It's fine. I was… you know. Makes sense really.”</p><p>David looked at him blankly. He took in the hunch to Jack’s shoulder, the furrow between his brows, the tug of a frown on the corners of his mouth, the way he scuffed his shoe against the pavement.</p><p>It hit him like a blow.</p><p>“Jack.” He swallowed against the lump growing in his throat. “I’m not angry with you.”</p><p>Jack looked up at that. His eyes were wide. “No?”</p><p>David shook his head.</p><p>“Huh,” Jack said.</p><p>So David was the worst person in the entire universe. “Why would I be angry with you?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Dunno.”</p><p>David waited for a moment. Nothing else came.</p><p>“Well…” he said, “I’m not.”</p><p>“Right,” Jack said. He frowned again. “But… you’ve been all–”</p><p>“I know,” David interrupted. He’d already dug through the past week enough; he couldn’t stand to hear how it must have looked to Jack. He was starting to get a pretty good sense of that already. “And I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to everyone, I promise, but I just… I really am sorry. And I’m even more sorry that I made you think you had something to do with it.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jack said. It was more of an exhalation than a word. It came out in a puff in the chilly air. “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>They looked at each other for a moment. David forced himself to look away with a laugh. “I think that might have been the most painful conversation I’ve ever been part of.”</p><p>Jack laughed too. “Not me.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Nah. Brooklyn meetings used to be all that, ‘cept more swearing.”</p><p>David snorted and covered his mouth. “Really?”</p><p>“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you comin’ was a savin’ grace, Dave.”</p><p>David ducked his head to hide his blush.</p><p>“So,” he said. “We should probably get selling.”</p><p>“Yeah. I was thinkin’ the corner of Franklin and Broadway? Thought that’d be funny.”</p><p>David nodded and stood up, turning in that direction. “That sounds good.”</p><p>“Does it or are you just tryin’ to weasel outta tellin’ me what’s actually got you all worked up?”</p><p>
  <em>Damn it.</em>
</p><p>”Davey.”</p><p>David closed his eyes and slumped against the wall. “It’s nothing really. Just… you know. I haven’t slept much.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>”It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>”Davey.”</p><p>”I can handle it?”</p><p>Jack snorted. “You know we both got very different ideas of what you should need to <em>handle.</em>”</p><p>David sighed. He should have known that wouldn’t work.</p><p>Jack knew David. That was one of the biggest concerns in the whole situation David now found himself in. Worse, Jack had somehow managed to pick up on the phrases he used to avoid questions or conversations. Most of the time he accepted them for what they were; signs that David absolutely did not want to talk about something.</p><p>Not today it seemed.</p><p>As Jack had also pointed out, though, David was pretty good at side-stepping questions.</p><p>He shrugged. “It’s just… between school and winter coming I’ve been busy. And Chanukah starts tonight…”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. We've been savin’ up our extra pennies. Kloppman’s not near as fussy ‘bout dreidel as he is dice games.” There was a moment’s pause. Jack ducked his head down into David’s vision. “That it?”</p><p><em>No.</em> David shrugged.</p><p>He heard Jack sigh. “Davey.”</p><p>”I won’t be around in the evenings and Mama may need some help–”</p><p>“Yeah, I sorta figured that out for myself. 'Cause I’m not an idiot.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“And you know I got you.”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>David ducked his head. “I know.”</p><p>“I got you, Davey,” Jack repeated, even more earnest.</p><p>David shrugged. “You don’t have to–”</p><p>“I want to.”</p><p>David swallowed. It took no work at all to make his voice sound weak enough to make the final sell: “Okay.”</p><p>“But only if you split your dreidel take.”</p><p>David snorted.</p><p>Jack grinned. “There we go. So we got a deal?”</p><p>“I’m not spit shaking on that,” David said through his giggles. “And you’re assuming I’ll <em>have</em> a take.”</p><p>“Shit. Les?”</p><p>“Sarah.”</p><p>“Damn. Should’ve known,” Jack shook his head with a frown. “Think it’s too late for me to steal her away from Kathy?”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure they’ve got a deal worked out,” David assured him. “I heard them muttering about Katherine’s Christmas orange.”</p><p>“That double-crosser. I was gonna trade her for it!”</p><p>“Never trust reporters,” David recited. It wasn't as funny when Katherine wasn't there to squawk and smack him for it.</p><p>“Never trust reporters,” Jack agreed, grinning. “You good?”</p><p>“Yeah,” David assured him. “I’m good. Now, come on. We got papes to sell”</p><p>Jack smiled even brighter. “Sure do, Davey.”</p><p>David's heart lurched. He ignored it, took a deep breath of the freezing air and stepped out into the fray with Jack.</p><p>His good friend Jack.</p><p>Yeah, he’d be fine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations: </p><p>Nisht yetst: Not now [Yiddish]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Khaloymes: December 4, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings: I don’t know where David trying to ignore everything falls in terms of period-typical internalized homophobia vs. just plain pining but it’s there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>khaloymes</strong> <em>n.</em> dreams, fantasies; used in the sense of "wild dreams" or "wishful thinking" [Yiddish כאָלעם from the Hebrew חלום <em>khalom</em> (dream), pl. <em>khalomot</em>]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>December 4, 1899</strong>
</p><p>When David was a child, his parents made sure he understood the importance of practice.</p><p><em>You are a smart boy,</em> he remembered his mother telling him, <em>and that will get you far and it will make many things easy for you. You need to learn how to work hard now so that when things get less easy you will know what to do.</em></p><p>David would thank her for the lesson but to do so would mean telling her how he was employing it. And she could never find out how he was employing it.</p><p>In any case, David staunchly ignored his heart’s palpitations and his sweaty palms. He nipped his mind’s lovelorn tangents in the bud. He smothered every spark that may flame the torch he carried.</p><p>Still, he frequently thought about Jack.</p><p>He thought about how supportive Jack was, how kind he was. He thought about how much he enjoyed spending time with him, and how much he would miss that, how unbearable everything would suddenly become—or perhaps it was more apt to say how unbearable it would be to return to how things were, since hadn’t it always been unbearable before if he let himself think about it even though he knew he couldn’t—if Jack was not there.</p><p>It worked quite well if he did say so himself.</p><p>But it was still a relief when Jack said he had to duck out of selling early to grab something from the lodging house.</p><p>That relief dimmed when David handed off their last paper; Jack had not yet returned.</p><p><em>It’s probably nothing,</em> he told himself as he wished the man a good evening and pocketed his penny. <em>He just got caught up with something.</em></p><p>Still… it wouldn’t hurt to look for him.</p><p>He kept his eye out for the flash of Jack’s red scarf the entire way, looking up and down streets as he headed back to the distribution yard where they were supposed to meet Crutchie and Les. There was no sight or sound of his selling partner, though. By the time he approached the gate he was getting well and truly worried.</p><p>Even though it was probably nothing.</p><p>He entered the gate. He was momentarily excited by the crowd just inside, but that went away when he realized Jack was not among them. He recognized the group, of course; Race, Albert, Mush, Kid Blink, Specs, and Henry were huddled together. David paused, suspicion creeping in. Since the weather turned most of David’s friends went straight from selling to Jacobi’s or the lodging house. How they were talking did nothing to allay his suspicion; they were clumped in close, heads ducked as they hissed and whispered. None of them looked up as he approached, even though his footsteps were loud in the gravel that Wiesel had scattered over the icy patches in the yard. The group was enthralled in their conversation, which David could sort of hear as he got closer.</p><p>“–don’t think it’ll work,” Specs was saying.</p><p>“It’s gotta,” Race responded. “I don’t know about… <em>you know,</em> but whatever he does it’s gotta clear <em>somethin’</em> up.”</p><p>“God, I hope so,” Mush took off his hat and raked a hand through his curls. “You know I didn’t think it would get worse after that time with the shirt.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” Race groaned. “Him flounderin’ was funny the first few weeks but now it’s just pitiful. I don’t think I can stand to watch no more. He’s a <em>mess.</em>”</p><p>“Who’s a mess?” David asked.</p><p>They jumped and turned to face him.</p><p>“Henry.” Race said quickly. “We’s is talkin’ ‘bout Henry.”</p><p>The boy in question scoffed. “Please. I’m smooth as butter.”</p><p><em>Oh really?</em> David looked over Henry’s shoulder. “What do you think, Sniper?”</p><p>Henry yelped and spun around.</p><p>“Oh yes.” David said. “Very smooth.”</p><p>Albert cackled.</p><p>“Davey!” Henry whined.</p><p>David shrugged. “You know how I feel about lying.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>David turned to see Les and Crutchie joining the group. They both looked cheerful and wind-bitten. Les had actually kept his scarf on today so that was probably a contributing factor—at least, that’s what David was going to tell him the next time Les started complaining about not wanting to wear the itchy wool.</p><p>“Your brother just made Henry here jump like a flea,” Race said. “It was somethin’ special. Somethin’ <em>miraculous</em>, hey Davey?”</p><p>He smiled; Race always looked at him pointedly when he used one of the words he’d given him. “I think that’s a fair description. But I’d say he looked more like a cat that got its tail stepped on.”</p><p>Albert, who had just gotten himself under control, snorted and giggled.</p><p>“Hey!” Henry said.</p><p>“You–” Crutchie broke off with a yawn, then continued: “You probably deserved it.”</p><p>“You okay?” David asked.</p><p>Crutchie nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Just a lot of late nights.”</p><p>“How late?”</p><p>Crutchie tilted his head to the side, considering. “probably midnight?”</p><p>“Later,” Specs said.</p><p>David looked around at the other’s nodding. “But you all have to get up at– <em>Why</em> are you staying up that late?”</p><p>“Dreidel.” They chorused.</p><p>“This is the only week of the year where Kloppman looks the other way while pennies change pockets,” Race explained. “We gotta take advantage.”</p><p>David rolled his eyes. “You also gotta get some sleep so that you don’t go getting sick or falling asleep on the job.”</p><p>“Davey, I traded my ma away for Coronas for a reason,” Race said haughtily, “and that reason is now nobody can tell me what to do.”</p><p>“Except for Kloppman,” Les said.</p><p>Race pouted. “…Except occasionally for Kloppman.”</p><p>”And Mrs. Oliver.”</p><p>“She don’t count.”</p><p>“And Jacobi.”</p><p>“Okay,” Race interrupted. “I get the point.”</p><p>Mush chucked. “Come on, Race, I think shorstack’s got more. Plus I got a few to tack on–”</p><p>“Henry!” Race yelled. “We oughta go back to talkin’ ‘bout Henry!”</p><p>“What about Henry?” Henry asked.</p><p>“How ‘bout the fact that I’m nine days from losin’ the pot on when youse is gonna ask Sniper out,” Mush offered.</p><p>Albert frowned. “You wasn’t supposed to–”</p><p>“I knew,” Henry said, waving his hand in dismissal. “We bet on when Wiesel’s gonna trim his mustache and when Oscar’s gonna slip on ice; I knew you was bettin’ on this.”</p><p>“Fair,” Kid Blink said.</p><p>Race shoved him. “But now he’s gonna wait to ask her until we’re all out!”</p><p>“You think he’s got control over any of this?” Kid Blink said, shoving Race right back.</p><p>“Hey!” Henry said. Then he paused and nodded. “You know what; fair.”</p><p>“How long has it even been?” David asked.</p><p>Race looked at him forlornly. “You don’t wanna know.”</p><p>“You don’t,” Les agreed.</p><p>David looked down at his brother. “How do you know?”</p><p>“I get all the good gossip.”</p><p>“But you ain’t outa the pot yet!” Henry declared. “Cause I’m gonna ask her tonight!”</p><p>Mush patted his shoulder. “Sure, buddy.”</p><p>“No, <em>for</em> sure!” Henry said. “She’s comin’ over for the game. I can ask her then. And I’ll get her some food ‘cause she’s gotta sneak out before she finishes her supper–”</p><p>“Where’s the food gonna come from?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>Henry thought for a moment. “I could convince Miss Ollie to let me use the kitchen?”</p><p>The boys grimaced. David did too. Mrs. Oliver—the lodging house’s housekeeper, cook, matron, and everything else she deemed necessary—had a kind and nurturing soul but she was frightfully organized. Organization was impossible to maintain in a lodging house full of rambunctious children and teenagers, though, so she kept order where she would. The kitchen was her domain; trespassers were not welcome and guests were non-existent.</p><p>“Davey, I’m gonna need some choice words to describe that plan,” Race said.</p><p>“How about monumentally hasty?” David offered. “Or impetuous? Or unadvised?”</p><p>Race nodded. “That’ll do it. Hey, Henry–”</p><p>“Yeah, I got it.” Henry grumbled.</p><p>David shrugged apologetically. “Really, though; that would not go well for anyone involved.”</p><p>Henry turned to him beseechingly. “Well, what do you think I should do, Davey?”</p><p>David stiffened as all of their attention was suddenly turned on him. “What makes you think I have any ideas?”</p><p>“I mean…” Henry looked around at the group. “Ain’t you ever had to impress a gal?”</p><p>“David doesn’t talk to girls.” Les told them.</p><p>“I do!” David defended, even though… “I just don’t… I’ve just never courted anyone.”</p><p>Race scoffed. “Course you haven’t. ‘Cause no one’s had to <em>court</em> nobody since the Middle Ages.”</p><p>“Nah. Katherine’s gotta get courted,” Crutchie said. “She had to get all these lessons and stuff from her nanny and her sisters and school. I don’t understand none of it but I guess that’s on purpose—all the rich fellas learn how to go courtin’ the rich gals and the rich gals gotta get courted proper. I think it’s so’s that they stick together; you gotta go readin’ textbooks to understand all the rules so why bother tryin’ to hit above your weight?”</p><p>”They learn it in school?” Specs asked.</p><p>”’parently,” Crutchie said.</p><p>Specs turned to David, tilting his head, considering. Smirking. “But just fancy schools.”</p><p>Henry perked up.</p><p>David held his hands up in front of him. He felt a little ridiculous for doing so but the look in Henry’s eyes was so similar to an overeager puppy that he couldn’t really help himself. “Wait…”</p><p>“You do!” Henry cheered.</p><p>“I don’t!” he warned. “I mean…we get etiquette lessons and stuff so I know the general idea but–”</p><p>Henry just nodded repeatedly. “I’ll take it!”</p><p>“No,” David rubbed at his face, feeling a headache building behind his eyes. “I mean… none of it would work anyways. It’s not like you can even introduce yourself to her father and get his approval and she’d probably think less of you if you did and she doesn’t have to worry about being out in society so all of the stuff associated with that is out of the window and I don’t think courting gifts are even a <em>thing</em> anymore, but even if they were, they’re more associated with pursuing an engagement and that <em>really</em> shouldn’t be what you’re trying to think about right now–”</p><p>“Breathe.” Crutchie reminded him.</p><p>David stopped and did so. Then he turned on Crutchie and barreled on: “Look, you asked. That’s all I have for you. I really don’t know <em>what</em> you expected me to say considering you already know that I’m not–”</p><p>“Maybe I should get her flowers.”</p><p>David broke off. He turned to look at Henry. Everyone was looking at Henry.</p><p>“Flowers?” Race asked.</p><p>“Yeah?” Henry said. “There’s that store off of Baxter street, right? They're cheap but good. And the folks that run it are nice. Yeah!” His voice got more enthusiastic with every word, like he was warming up to the idea as he explained it. “I’ll get her flowers!”</p><p>Kid Blink raised his eyebrow pointedly.  “Why?”</p><p>Henry faltered. “Girls like flowers?”</p><p>“Henry.”</p><p>Kid Blink was one of the quieter newsies, though it may be fairer to say he was <em>the</em> quiet newsie. David could count on one hand the number of conversations they’d had in the past six months. Initially, he’d worried he’d done something to offend him—Kid Blink was one of the older newsies, and had been selling longer than even Jack. By all rights he should have been Jack’s VP. Jack assured him that Kid Blink had never wanted to be anywhere close to being in charge of nothing. And Jack assured him that Kid Blink wasn’t angry at all; he was just sullen by nature and prickly by habit.</p><p>And when he was unimpressed by someone, he let them know.</p><p>“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”</p><p>“<em>Hey.</em>” David warned.</p><p>“I agree.” Les said primly. “It’s dumb. Really fucking–”</p><p>Les broke off with a yelp and a giggle as David gave his scarf a firm yank.</p><p>“They do!” Henry was saying to the laughing crowd.</p><p>“Sniper don’t!” Kid Blink yelled.</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“Same way you do!”</p><p>“Well…” Henry looked around at them each, eyes desperate, “well what else then?”</p><p>Race threw up his hands. “Anything else!”</p><p>“I’ve tried everything else!”</p><p>“You can’t have–”</p><p>“I tried to give her half an apple and stammered the whole time–” Henry reminded them. “Then I tried to ask her to Jacobi’s and didn’t even get to it ‘cause I was just talkin’ ‘bout <em>sandwiches.</em>”</p><p>David tried not to smile at both memories. “Neither of those were <em>that</em> bad–”</p><p>His consolations went ignored.</p><p>“And there was that time I was gonna sit next to her and missed the chair, and when I spilled water all over my shirt and she had to help me mop it up.” 
</p><p>”That was bad,” Specs agreed.</p><p>Henry was counting them off on his fingers now “And when I went to give her my extra roll and a pigeon stole it. Or what about when I was gonna ask her and then <em>Albert</em> hit me in the head with a <em>snowball!</em>”</p><p>“I didn’t know!” Albert whined.</p><p>“What about when you told her you liked her shirt?” Mush offered. “She liked that.”</p><p>“Yeah, that would’a been great if I hadn’t forgot what I was gonna say next and <em>ran away–</em>”</p><p>“So you’ve just been trying to ask her out all this time?” Les asked.</p><p>Henry cut off, startled. “I… yeah?”</p><p>“That’s it?”</p><p>Henry squinted down at him and crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Les sighed heavily. “I <em>mean</em> when’s the last time you just <em>talked</em> to her?”</p><p>Henry opened his mouth to counter. Then he shut it, frowned, and looked up, considering.</p><p>He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “…whoops.”</p><p>”Oh my god,” Specs muttered, shutting his eyes tight.</p><p>“Wait.” Kid Blink said. “Wait one damn second, you FORGOT to TALK TO HER!?”</p><p>“No!” Henry cried.</p><p>“Did you forget to talk <em>with</em> her?” Mush asked, grin widening as Kid Blink’s face turned stormy.</p><p>“I was busy!” Henry’s voice managed to go up three octaves during his short defence.</p><p>Kid Blink jabbed a finger into Henry’s chest. “For how long!?”</p><p>Henry’s hands flew up in a series of aborted and frantic motions, mouth moving, no words coming out.</p><p>“HOW.” Another jab. “LONG?” And another.</p><p>“Shortstack,” Albert said with a sigh, “don’t ever let nobody tell you folks get smarter when they get older.”</p><p>Les scoffed. “I already knew <em>that.</em>”</p><p>“OCTOBER?” Kid Blink yelled incredulously.</p><p>“MAYBE?” Henry yelled back, just as incredulous.</p><p>Mush was shaking with the force of suppressed glee.</p><p>Les rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Maybe focus on having a conversation with her before you go buying her a bouquet.”</p><p>Mush gave up his attempts, letting a peel of laughter escape.</p><p>“Shut up!” Henry yelled.</p><p>Mush did not.</p><p>“How did we manage to win a strike?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>David shrugged. “I’ve asked myself many times. I’ll let you know when I come up with an answer.”</p><p>Les smirked. “Well, the sun shines on a dog’s–”</p><p>“I told you not to repeat that one,” David interrupted.</p><p>“But Mrs. Nowak–”</p><p>“Is an adult and doesn’t have parents yelling at her or her older brother when she says rude idioms. Don’t.”</p><p>Les sighed a sigh far too aggrieved to have come out of a ten-year-old.</p><p>“–and how’re you even gonna buy one?” Kid Blink was demanding of a sheepish looking Henry. “You don’t have no cash!”</p><p>“You don’t?” David asked.</p><p>“Well…” Henry said, voice still high.</p><p>David frowned. “Are your sales going poorly? You know you can always let us know if you need a new spot and we set up the winter reserve funds for a reason–”</p><p>Henry groaned and covered his face with his hands.</p><p>Crutchie shook his head with a smirk. “He’s sellin’ fine. He’s just got rotten luck so every night he’s been losin’ his pocket change penny by penny.”</p><p>It took David a minute. Then he grinned. “And I bet he’s all too eager to loan Sniper a few coins when she’s starting to look a little low.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Henry groaned.</p><p>“No, keep goin’, Davey,” Blink said, punching his shame-faced friend in the shoulder. “Keep remindin’ him how he can give Snipes twenty cents at the drop of a hat and still not manage to talk to her for <em>two months!</em>”</p><p>Henry groaned.</p><p>David shook his head. “I think he gets the point. And…” he looked between the group, considering, before landing on Race. “Did you get the pot?”</p><p>Race scowled. “No.”</p><p>“Aw.” Mush pouted condescendingly and he patted Race on the head. “Is someone still mad?”</p><p>Race swatted his hand away. “I was gonna win and you know it!”</p><p>“Ain’t over ‘till it’s over,” Specs reminded him.</p><p>David turned to Crutchie. “Gimel?”</p><p>Crutchie grinned. “Don’t think he could spin nothin’ else.”</p><p>“And Race?”</p><p>“Shin, shin, put one in!” Albert chanted.</p><p>Race lunged for him. Albert skittered back, laughing. Race, as he was wont to do, had launched his attack with great enthusiasm and no forethought, as evident by the fact that Albert’s predictable retreat left Race reaching for nothing. His arms flailed as he stumbled, eyes flying wide, before Henry grabbed him by the back of his coat and yanked him back up to his feet.</p><p>“Don’t go breakin’ your face, idiot.”</p><p>“Don’t call me an idiot, you dummy!” Race yelled, ripping Henry’s hat off to whack him in the chest with it.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“Both of you shut up,” Kid Blink grumbled. “Youse is both dumb as rocks.”</p><p>They both turned on him “Hey!”</p><p>“They ain’t that bad,” Mush defended, putting his arm over Kid Blinks’ shoulder.</p><p>Kid Blink turned to give him an unimpressed look.</p><p>“They ain’t Jack.”</p><p>Kid Blink barked out a laugh. “Thank god for that.”</p><p>David frowned. That didn’t seem fair… or maybe there was something wrong with Jack? Something that he’d missed these last two weeks since he'd been– “Why is that a bright side?”</p><p>“Jack can’t play dreidel to save his life” Crutchie answered. “But he still always plays ‘cause the kids will ask him and he can’t say no to none of ‘em. They ask him ‘cause they know he’s bad. Gets robbed blind every year but we figure it’s good to knock him down a peg or two every year. Builds character.”</p><p>David laughed. He could picture it perfectly: Jack sitting between the young newsies, giving them a glance out of the corner of his eye as he clumsily spun the dreidel, sending it to spiral across the uneven lodging house floor. The kids would crane their heads to peek, hands braced on Jack’s shoulders as they looked over one another, to watch as the dreidel clattered to a stop, nun staring up at the ceiling. Jack would throw up his hands with a dramatic cry as the others started cheering and laughing. He’d pout as the children started teasing him and smile when they excitedly reached for their spin, and throughout it all his eyes would be warm and soft, crinkling at the corners–</p><p>That was enough of that.</p><p>“Speaking of Jack,” he said, “have you seen him?”</p><p>Crutchie frowned. “Yeah. When you went off to sell together.”</p><p>“We were,” David corrected, “but he said he had to get something from the lodging house and that he’d be right back. Except then he wasn’t.”</p><p>They all looked at one another for a moment.</p><p>Albert broke the silence: “He’s up on the roof.”</p><p>“The roof?” Les asked.</p><p>Albert nodded. “Yeah. The penthouse.” He turned back to David. “He said tell you to meet him up there.”</p><p>“Oh,” <em>but why didn’t Jack didn’t just say…</em> “Okay. Thanks.”</p><p>Albert smirked. “My pleasure, Davey.”</p><p>“Hey,” Crutchie said, “Why don’t’cha go on and catch him before he starts doin’ somethin’ else. I can take Les home and let your folks know you won’t be long.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” David asked.</p><p>Les was already grinning like mad, though, obviously sold on the plan. “Mama might’ve already started on the latkes. And you gotta try her paczki!”</p><p>”Paczki?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>”Ponchik,” Mush corrected.</p><p>”Berliner,” Henry insisted.</p><p>”Jelly donut,” Race clarified.</p><p>Crutchie nodded. “Won’t say no to that. Miss Ollie tries but she’s a fritters sorta gal. Been cravin’ good fried sweets all week.”</p><p> “Well it sounds like you don’t need my permission,” David said. “Les, do you have the–”</p><p>Les reached into his pocket then deposited his earnings into David’s palm.</p><p>“Good thing Jack’s got you to remember that for him,” Crutchie said as David counted out the pennies. “Don’t think he’d remember his head if it wasn’t attached to his body.”</p><p>David grinned and shook his head. “I try.”</p><p>“And we thank you for it,” Crutchie said. “Go on. Don’t keep Jack waitin’.”</p><p>David ignored the spike of fear Crutchie’s tone inspired, instead shaking his head and saying: “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, Crutchie.”</p><p>“See ya, Davey.”</p><p>..........</p><p>David spent half the walk back to the lodging house trying to figure out why Jack didn’t just tell him to meet him in the penthouse after selling and half of the walk preparing a lecture on how it was too cold for Jack to be spending any length of time up in the penthouse after selling outside all day. Every question he came up with was needy and revealing but he was pretty proud of the lecture. He was going to include some circulatory facts and stories about children losing toes.</p><p>It all flew out of his head as he hoisted himself up the last rung of the ladder and onto the roof.</p><p>Jack was kneeling down, hunched over a small bundle David couldn’t make out. He was trying to tie it up with a string of some sort, and it was obviously not going well if the swearing was anything to go by. He was muttering under his breath, but the penthouse was so far removed from the bustling streets below that the profuse profanity carried in the quiet.</p><p>“You okay there?”</p><p>Jack jumped to his feet, shoved the bundle behind his back with one hand, and raised the other up between them.</p><p>“No! Stay back!”</p><p>David froze. “Um…”</p><p>“Shit, I mean,” Jack dropped his hand to his side. “What’re you doin’ here?”</p><p>“Albert said you needed to talk to me.” David said levelly, even though it now felt more like a question.</p><p>Jack’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed down to a flat line. “I need to talk to Albert, that's who I need to talk to,” he muttered. He sighed heavily, then smiled, tension seeping from his frame. “Oh, come on over. I was never gonna figure this out.”</p><p>David approached hesitantly. When he got within arms reach, Jack reached out, or rather…</p><p>“Here,” he said, wiggling the small paper-wrapped package in the air.</p><p>David looked at it, then up to Jack’s face. Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes. “For me?”</p><p>Jack chuckled breathily. “Jesus, Davey. Ain’t you ever got a present before?”</p><p>David’s heart beat hard and fast as he took the bundle from Jack’s hand. He turned it over in his hands gingerly. The paper was plain brown, the twine rough and fraying, prickling his palms as he flipped it over to see the tight and tangled knot. Jack was a terrible wrapper; the paper on the short ends and corners was crumpled and softened from repeated attempts to fold it into place.</p><p>“A present?” he asked dumbly.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“For Chanukah.”</p><p>David looked up at that. “For Chanukah?”</p><p>Jack’s eyes went wide. “Shit, did I get it wrong? Thought it ended tonight. I was gonna give it you earlier but Kathy couldn’t find no one to fix it and then I kept havin’ to help Kloppman–”</p><p>“No,” he interrupted. Then, quickly, corrected himself: “I mean, yes, it does. We just don’t…” he trailed off, then wiggled the present in replacement for the words that would not come out of his mouth.</p><p>Jack’s eyes followed the movement. David could see in his eyes when what he was trying to say got through. “You don’t?”</p><p>David shook his head.</p><p>Jack’s shoulders slumped. “I’m gonna kill Crutchie.”</p><p>“Wait, did he tell you–” David broke off to bite back a laugh. “But he’s not even <em>Jewish.</em>”</p><p>Jack flushed. “Mush and Henry backed him up!”</p><p>David did laugh at that, but he also immediately covered his mouth and said: “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Ah, it’s okay.” Jack smiled sheepishly—cheeks still flushed, his lips slanted to the side, revealing a little peak of white teeth.</p><p>David looked away.</p><p>“So,” he said loudly. “A Chanukah present?”</p><p>“Yeah. If that’s… you know.”</p><p>David peaked up again. The smile had settled down, just a slight wry curl of the lips.</p><p>Jack shrugged. “I mean, to be honest, I sorta did it for you for Christmas ‘cause we all usually just do somethin’ like this together ‘cause there’s no papes then and presents give everyone somethin’ to look forward to… and I sorta forgot you didn’t know about that and I didn’t want it to look like I was trying to convert you or nothin’ ‘cause I know folks do that and it’s shit, but I still wanted to do it so I–”</p><p>David didn’t think he’d ever seen Jack ramble like this.</p><p>Jack seemed to notice too. He gave him that sheepish grin again. “I figured this might be okay. I didn’t wanna wait until you turned eighteen to give it to you.”</p><p>David felt a little dizzy.</p><p>
  <em>He wanted to give me a present.</em>
</p><p>No. Stop that.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, voice far too faint. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Can I open it?”</p><p>Jack schooled his expression into a disappointed pout and shook his head. “Shouldn’t you wait until you light the candles or somethin’? Have some sorta ceremony around it? What would the big man say, you goin’ and openin’ your Chanukah present all casual and stuff?”</p><p>“There ain’t no such thing as a Chanukah present, Jack, so I think we can let all that go.”</p><p>That earned him a laugh. David always earned a laugh whenever he dropped his careful grammar and borrowed the other boy’s heavy ‘Hattan accent.</p><p>“Got me there.” Jack motioned to the package, eyes sparking. “Go on. I wanted to see your face anyways.”</p><p>“Alright.” He held out his free hand. “Give me that knife. I’m not even going to try to undo this knot.”</p><p>Jack chuckled but stepped forward, wedging the knife under the twine and severing it with a quick tug. “That good, your highness?”</p><p>“It’ll do,” David said primly.</p><p>He pulled the twine off and put it in his bag. He folded back the paper to reveal a book with a grey cover. The edge was covered in black leather, with two thin strips of the same black leather inset into the binding, tying the book closed. Despite that new addition David still recognized it. David suspected Jack could have coated it in orange paint—which, judging by the stains that still discoloured the front cover, he had tried to—and David could recognize it. He was there the day Jack got it. He remembered the joy in his eyes when Katherine handed it over, her face bright red. He’d refused, of course, but was immediately convinced to accept the gift when he learned she’d stolen it from her father’s office.</p><p>“Your sketchbook?”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Yeah. Just finished it.”</p><p>David nodded mutely. He was glad it was such a cold day; Jack didn’t question why his fingers were shaking as he untied the strings and opened the cover.</p><p>The inside cover was inscribed with the neat block letters that were almost as recognizable as his own: PROPERTY OF JACK KELLY. Except Jack had crossed out his name. Underneath, he’d written DAVEY JACOBS. David’s throat went tight.</p><p>The first page was filled with Katherine, Les, and Crutchie’s smiling faces. Jack had done it seconds after he’d opened the book, declaring they had to help him break it in right. David remembered the drawing well; he’d begged off being in the picture so that he could sit beside Jack and watch him draw. He remembered his awe as circles and blocks quickly turned into exact likenesses of their friends. The drawing was more detailed than David remembered it, though. Jack must have returned to it later, darkening Katherine’s curls, adding the pattern to Les’s shirt, and dotting Crutchie’s cheeks with freckles.</p><p>David turned the page.</p><p>Over a dozen newsies smiled up at him. They’d probably all demanded to be included in Jack’s new book. Race was in the top corner—he’d been the first, of course he had. Albert was beside him. Mush and Kid Blink were drawn together, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. Smalls was drawn three times—the first two scratched out, the last one barely an outline. He was never good at sitting still. Sniper took up almost a quarter of the second page. She was very good at sitting still. The graphite was fuzzy but there was still a glint in her eyes that matched the smirk on her lips, staring out from the page, daring him to try her.</p><p>David flipped through the pages slowly. They were similarly cramped. Buildings peeked out from the edges, rising up on the page, running into patches of doodles—a copy of a misprinted ad that had made them laugh hysterically when they first noticed it, a few pigeons pecking at the ground, a rat peeking out of a drainpipe, a pattern he’d copied from one of David’s textbook covers. There were squiggles and shapes. There were patches of paint where he’d tested out colours. There were layouts (<em>compositions</em>, Jack called them) for theatre backdrops. The paper underneath was grey from all the times Jack erased and re-drew them, trying so hard to make them perfect even though he always made changes as he painted. There were drafts for the political cartoons David remembered from the papers. There were drafts for political cartoons Jack could never submit, too scathing for Pulitzer’s audience. Pulitzer featured a lot too, cartoonishly angry, little speech bubbles filled with the funniest things Jack and Katherine heard him complain about. Some drawings had been scribbled out angrily. Some were smudged to fuzzy blurs. Some were unfinished, so that David was left to imagine the lines that Jack had left out.</p><p>Their friends were scattered across the pages. There were many drawings of Katherine—a whole page was devoted to her making funny faces. Les was also a frequent subject, making a variety of dramatic poses. David smiled when he came to the drawing of Les as a pirate. Jack had strung him along for hours, making him beg for it, even though he was almost as excited as Les was at the mere concept. Crutchie often looked up from the pages, smiling, frowning, focusing, laughing. Albert stuck his tongue out. Tommy smirked. Race and Finch waltzed clumsily. Les rode on Mush’s back. Smalls rode on Romeo’s back. Buttons dozed, surrounded by mended socks. Some were quick, just a few lines and scribbles. Others spoke of single-minded focus, detailed and fully shaded.</p><p>Half of a page was filled with a drawing of a very judgemental looking pigeon looking down from above. Written beside it, in the same neat block letters that had proclaimed the book as Jack’s—and now <em>Davey’s</em>—property, was STUDY OF DAVEY AS PIGEON.</p><p>Jack snickered.</p><p>David rolled his eyes and flipped to the next page.</p><p>The next drawing stretched across both pages. It was the view from the penthouse. If David turned around, he could hold it up and look between the two, match the buildings and see how different the cloudy winter sky looked next to the patchy autumn dawn.</p><p>“I know it’s kinda silly,” Jack said into the quiet. “Can’t really afford to get you much else. And, I mean, this is also sorta from Katherine. She got the binding fixed up. And Crutchie said you like my drawings–”</p><p>He struggled to regain his voice. “No.” It came out too quiet and too… reverent for his liking. “I mean– sorry, I don’t mean that I don’t like your drawings. I do. I like your drawings.”</p><p>“Really?” Jack asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” David turned the page to demonstrate, looking down to explain how much he appreciated Jack’s talent and how much he valued being trusted with so much of it, “I–”</p><p>His voice broke off as his eyes caught on–</p><p>Jack leaned over to see the page. “Um. Right.”</p><p>David had not really been aware of the quiet when it had settled last time, even though he knew it had fallen, punctuated only by the sound of turning pages. He was all too aware of the quiet that surrounded them now.</p><p>Jack broke it; his voice was high and uncertain. “I… uh. I forgot that one was in there?”</p><p>David knew he should tell Jack it was fine. He’d known Jack had drawn him. It was a given; Jack drew everyone and everything in his unrelenting quest to keep in practice. His consistency stemmed from an innate worry that he would lose the skill. That anxiety carried over even when he did practice; he was always a little shifty about anyone seeing his drawings. He was especially nervous about showing his subjects their portraits, immediately apologizing about the minute mistakes that only he noticed. David knew he should console his friend. He wanted to.</p><p>But he couldn’t find the words.</p><p>He was sitting on the edge of one of the bunks. His legs were hanging over the side, tucked in against the bed frame. He was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, hands folded together and resting between his knees. He wasn’t wearing his vest. His suspenders were dark lines against the sketchy plaid on his shirt. His head was tipped to the side to rest against the bedpost. His eyes were distant, his smile faint, as he looked towards the blank page opposite.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jack was saying, “I know it’s– Race always complains when he finds out I was drawin’ him without him knowin’.”</p><p>He swallowed heavily. “No, I–”</p><p>He should look up at Jack, he knew that. He should assure him that he knew it meant nothing, that Jack didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed. That he never had to worry about embarrassing himself in front of David. But to do so would require him to look up.</p><p>And he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the page because…</p><p>Because…</p><p>David liked to consider himself a rational person. He tried not to jump to conclusions. He tried to base his insights on observations and facts. He tried to think things through. He tried to approach problems from every angle to up with the best solution available. He knew he often failed at this task, but, at the very least, he knew he was reasonable.</p><p>It was within reason to say his sister was pretty—it had been said enough times, a conclusion corroborated by peers, by their parents, by their friends. It was also logical, easily reached through observation. She had their mother’s angled profile, softened by youth and their father’s kind eyes.</p><p>David had his mother’s high cheekbones and his father’s thick brows. He had his mother’s dark circles and his father’s weary frown. His jaw was shaped in a way he couldn’t quite align with the rest of his family’s features. He wasn’t sure why his eyes were grey blue rather than clear blue or deep brown. He wasn’t sure why his hair was so dark.</p><p>Sometimes his mother would catch him out of the corner of her eye and linger. These prolonged glances became more frequent after his limbs had stretched with painful speed. She would stare at him, she would notice him staring back, and she would smile sheepishly and sadly. She would turn away and say <em>you look so much like them</em> like it was a confession.</p><p>David always thought he was a little too…everything. Too thin, too sharp, too stretched, too odd. His hair was too messy, his skin was too pale, his face was too drawn. He’d always been a half-step from fair, outside of the realm of compliments or ridicule. He was fine with it. He didn’t care for how he looked but others didn’t care either.</p><p>Here though… he didn’t mind how he looked here.</p><p>He had to stop himself from reaching out and tracing the lines with his finger. He couldn’t look away from the smile. <em>His</em> smile. He didn’t know he even…</p><p>It couldn’t be accurate. Perhaps it was just a mistake; a stray smudged line softening his features so that they were unrecognizably fond.</p><p>He had to stop himself from ripping the page out, crumpling it in his fist and throwing it over the edge of the roof, letting it fall to the street to be trampled underfoot, lost to the carelessness of the city.</p><p>He kind of hated it.</p><p>Because if he looked at it long enough, he could pretend. If he read between the sketched lines as he tried so hard not to read into every action Jack took near and towards him, even when he knew it was unfounded and impossible, he could almost imagine–</p><p>“Davey?”</p><p>“I love it,” he clarified. “I–” David swallowed the words. They settled in his stomach like a stone. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Course, Davey.”</p><p>He looked up. Jack was smiling, small and soft. On his face the expression was immeasurably more lovely.</p><p>David closed the book with a snap and stuffed it into his bag. “I uh… I better get going.”</p><p>“Yeah, course,” Jack said easily. “Tell ‘em I say hi. And wish ‘em all a happy Chanukah from me, kay?”</p><p>“I will,” David promised. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>“See ya, Davey. Hey, wait–” David turned around. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies. “Almost forgot.”</p><p>David swallowed heavily. “Right.”</p><p>He held out his hand and let Jack dump the pile into his. Their fingers brushed as Jack pulled away. David shivered.</p><p>“Better count quick,” Jack said with a laugh. “Don’t want you freezin’ on me.”</p><p>David forced a laugh and willed his hands to steady as he split the take. He handed Jack his half, careful not to touch him.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he said.</p><p>“Night, Davey!”</p><p>David waited until he was three blocks away before he let himself duck into a side street, hand pressed hard against his mouth, no idea what sort of pitiful sound would escape if he let go.</p><p>Okay. So he might not be doing so well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am not sure if “shin shin put one in” is just a Wikipedia thing or if it is actually done but it worked for the joke. </p><p>And… look… I realize that this is very much a cop-out approach to shoehorning modern Chanukah traditions into 1899 just so that I can employ one of the oldest (broadway) newsies fanfic tricks in the book but… it’s my fic. And I’ve been saving up my Excused from Historical Accuracy points by making every hawked headline exact to the day and I will spend my points where I choose.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Kibitz: December 13, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We’re at the fun part in the story where things just start rapidly deteriorating. Speaking of which, it’s trauma time.</p><p>Chapter specific warnings: self-esteem issues, reference to past injury, graphic description of past injury, threats of bodily violence, gratuitous use of poorly translated Italian.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Kibitz</strong> <em>v.</em> <strong>1.</strong> to converse idly; gossip; <strong>2.</strong> to give unsolicited or unwanted advice or make unhelpful or idle comments, especially to someone playing a game [Yiddish קיבעצן (kibetsn), cognate to German <em>kiebitzen</em> (to look on), from German <em>Kiebitz</em> (lapwing), from Middle High German <em>gibiz</em> (plover), imitative of the lapwing’s cry]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>December 13, 1899</strong>
</p><p>“Mi aggrappo alla finestra con la punta delle dita, ma poi sono bloccato!”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>“e Albert inizia a ridere!”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>“così dico: ‘Può aiutarmi!’ Ma lui ride ancora di più! quindi urlo: ‘Sto per cadere da <em>una finestra,</em> quindi smettila di ridere di me e <em>aiutami,</em> tu dito nel culo! Ma indovina un po?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Lui non.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Quindi l'ho ucciso.”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>“Devo smaltire il corpo. Può aiutarmi?”</p><p>David registered the questioning tone a second too late. “Pardon?”</p><p>“Davey.” Race’s lips flicked into smirk before he schooled them into a disappointed pout. It was honestly pretty good—David could easily imagine his teachers making identical expressions at him every time he took more than a second to answer a question that they’d thrown at him with no warning. “In <em>Italiano.</em>”</p><p>“Right,” he said, then corrected himself: “uh… certamente.” He tried to recall what Race had asked him. Coming up with nothing, he instead responded with: “Cosa mi consiglia?”</p><p>Race shrugged. He was smirking again. “Tu scegli.”</p><p><em>Damn.</em> “No…” David said, “lascio decidere a lei.”</p><p>“Hmmm….” Race scrunched up his lips and tapped his finger against his chin. Finally, he threw his hands up with a loud: “Facciamolo! Getteremo il suo corpo nell'Hudson! Si laverà a riva tra una settimana, e–”</p><p><em>Corpo?</em> “Wait, what?”</p><p>David wondered if Race practiced rolling his eyes so far back into his head or if it came naturally. “Davey. In <em>Italiano.”</em></p><p>“Ho accettato di aiutarti a uccidere qualcuno?” he asked immediately.</p><p>Race’s answer was also immediate: “Si!”</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>He slumped over, forehead against the table, and put his arms over his head. He could still hear Race’s laughter.</p><p>“No,” he said to the table.</p><p>“Davey, come <em>on.</em>”</p><p>David had spent a lifetime ignoring Sarah’s wheedling. He had spent half a lifetime bearing the brunt of Les’s begging. He had spent the last few months facing the newsies as they tried to convince him of their various schemes and terrible ideas. Ignoring Race’s whining was second nature.</p><p>The sharp prods to the shoulder were another matter.</p><p>“<em>Daaaaaavvvveeeeyyy,</em>” the name was stretched out so long it was barely recognizable, “don’t leave me hangin’ like Albert—may he rest in peace. I need your spindly arms for when the rigor mortis sets in.”</p><p>He shook his head without lifting it. “No.”</p><p>“He’s starting to stink, though.”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>”</p><p>“Some friend you are, abandoning me in my time of need.”</p><p>David used the extra reach of his lamenting pose to swat Race in the chest.</p><p>He raised himself back up to his elbows as Race continued to laugh, then dropped his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Figurati,” Race said. “You've been out of it. And I already figured you faded off. I got to the part with the sheets and you didn't say nothin’ ‘bout <em>structural integrity</em>. And now I know that to get you back all I gotta do is start goin' on about dumpin' bodies so we're all set for next time.”</p><p>“Wait,” he dropped his hands to the table. “did you try and climb out the window again?”</p><p>Race put a hand on his heart. “I knew you was listenin' deep down.”</p><p>“David, is Anthony giving you a hard time?” Jacobi called over.</p><p>“No!” Race yelled back.</p><p>“Glad to hear,” Jacobi replied before he turned back around and continued to slice the corned beef.</p><p><em>Anthony?</em> David mouthed.</p><p><em>Shut up,</em> Race mouthed back.</p><p>David snickered.</p><p>Race kicked him under the table and they both dissolved into giggles.</p><p>A moderately successful evening of selling had allowed them to retreat to Jacobi’s warm deli for their lesson, which grew increasingly rare since winter set in and since school picked up. Albert had been selling with them, too, but he begged off sitting through the study session with the excuse and consolation that he’d tell Jack and Les where to find them.</p><p>It was for the best: if Albert didn’t like listening to them talking it Italian, he wouldn't enjoy listening to them work through Latin.</p><p>They’d been forced to delay their conversation by the stack of assignments David had stuffed into his satchel. He spent the first half-hour hurrying to pencil in translation after translation. Race kept him amused through the tedium. As soon as he finished the first page, Race seized it and then started reading it out loud. David corrected his pronunciation. Then Race corrected David’s pronunciation.</p><p>It was so much better than school. As much as David liked Mrs. Aldridge, Latin was more fun when taught by a judgemental and high-energy teenager who threw ripped up pieces of newspaper at you whenever you emphasized the wrong syllable.</p><p>Mrs. Aldridge was pleased with his recent improvement, though. He liked to think that was because he managed to wrap his head around the ablative case. It was probably because he had finally managed to roll his Rs without sounding phlegmy.</p><p>Jacobi was happy to let them work. He was especially happy today. Earlier, their back and forth had unnerved a customer so much that he left in a hurry, leaving too-large a tip. Apparently, the man had been loitering for hours and making increasingly rude observations about "the state of Manhattan these days.” Jacobi thanked them. He even gave them a reward.</p><p>“So,” Race took a gulp of apple cider and winced—still too hot, as David had warned him a minute ago—then set down the mug and said: “Gonna tell me why you can’t follow a conversation or do I gotta guess?”</p><p>David shrugged and went back to stirring his drink.</p><p>Race hummed then went quiet. Off to the side, Jacobi began humming a tune similar to “Ma’oz Tzur” but slightly off. David tuned him out—he’d had the song stuck in his head all last week and, as nice as it had been over Chanukah, he did not fancy holding onto it any longer.</p><p>“You still thinkin’ ‘bout Brooklyn?”</p><p>David looked back up. “What?”</p><p>“Your meetin’ yesterday,” Race clarified. “Figured you might still be stuck on that.” He shrugged, unconcerned, but his expression was understanding. “Can’t’ve been easy. I know Spot can be a right prickly bastard when he puts his mind to it.”</p><p>David hummed in agreement; it hadn’t been easy.</p><p>They’d agreed to move the final territory meeting to the spring to avoid having to convince Medda to let them use her theatre again. David suspected she’d let them use the space, but it felt like a bad idea to hold such an important meeting in a building imbued with guilt and betrayal—as much as David and Spot had forgiven Jack, he didn’t think Jack had forgiven himself. And David did not want to test whether the other leaders had forgiven Jack. Forgiven them both for presenting a spectacle instead of a plan. Also, David was pretty damn sure that at some point in the meeting someone was going to try and flip a table. Borrowing the theatre was one thing. Medda would be happy to let them borrow the theatre. Set pieces were another matter. And if there was a risk of the set pieces getting damaged? Not a chance.</p><p>So they agreed to delay the meeting until spring.</p><p>Reaching that agreement took an hour and a half.</p><p>“Yeah,” David sighed, rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hand and squinted at the newsie—the <em>Manhattan</em> newsie—opposite him. “I didn’t know you knew Spot.”</p><p>Race, in turn, sent him a look he instantly recognized: the <em>Davey, buddy, you’re a great pal and all but god are you dumb sometimes</em> look.</p><p>“Davey,” Race said dryly. “I sell at Sheepshead.”</p><p>David knew that. “Right.” With the reminder, though, he was also reminded of a question he’d held out on for months. “How do you get away with that?”</p><p>Race grinned. “Spot’s a prickly bastard, I’m a stubborn bastard: rock, hard place. He lets me stay so long as I don’t try to talk to him.”</p><p>Though he wouldn’t dare call them friends, David had gotten to know Spot in their dealing together. “Prickly bastard” was… a pretty apt description. David would call Race his friend. “Stubborn bastard” was a very apt description. Still…</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“It’s a <em>symbiotic relationship,</em>” Race said in the clipped and level voice he used to imitate David. “Also means I don’t gotta talk to him.”</p><p>“A lot of people don’t talk to Spot,” David pointed out. “That doesn’t mean he lets them waltz around Flatbush.”</p><p>“Well…” Race’s voice went high on the drawn-out word. “I guess it also helps that my cousin Joey’s over there. She’s a Brooklyn newsie, the little traitor,” he said affectionately. “She started… eh, ‘bout two years ago? She says it’s so she can help her Pa but <em>I</em> think she just wants to be more like her favourite cousin. Anyways, she’s got Spot wrapped ‘round her finger. No one’ll even look at me the wrong way so long as she’s there to make cow eyes.”</p><p>David nodded solemnly. “And since you’re wrapped around her other finger you agreed to stop riling Spot up.”</p><p>“Yeah, so–” Even though Race froze, David was sure his blotchy red cheeks felt quite warm. “Shut up.”</p><p>“And I assume you started selling over there so that you would be able to check in on her…”</p><p>Race kicked him in the shin. “Shut <em>up!</em>”</p><p>“Alright, alright,” he said through his laughter. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you are a caring and kind person.”</p><p>“Good,” Race said, giving David one last kick for good measure. “Got a reputation to maintain”</p><p>David shook his head. “Race,” he said, “no one thinks you’re heartless.”</p><p>Race snorted. “Nah, but they do think I managed to annoy Spot into givin’ up turf. That’s a rep you hold onto with your life.”</p><p>David laughed. Race smirked and took a sip of his drink. He didn’t wince this time so David chanced a taste too. He hummed appreciatively as it hit his tongue. There was definitely cinnamon and cloves, as well as… allspice? Or maybe it was nutmeg. Whatever the blend of spices was, they warmed him up as much as the heat of the beverage. It coated his throat and soothed away the soreness caused by hours of yelling into the wind.</p><p>David took another sip, then set the mug down carefully on his napkin. “The meeting wasn’t that bad; it was no worse than any other meeting. And, yeah, negotiating this new date with the rest of the boroughs will be a lot of work but… it’s for the best. Better to have people come together in spring when they’re feeling a little more genial than in the winter when… well…”</p><p>Race nodded. “Everyone’s ready to bite each other’s head off anytime they ain’t singin’ carols or drinkin’ hot chocolate.”</p><p>“Don’t know about the carolling part but…” He thought back to Les’s foul mood a few weeks ago. “Yeah. I’d like to add eating soup to the list, too, though.”</p><p>“How the hell did I forget about soup?” Race explained. “Sacrilege. Anyway; so that’s a nope. Um… I dunno. How’s school?”</p><p>David shrugged. “Same old.”</p><p>Race did not look impressed with that answer but he dropped the subject without further inquiry. “And your folks? They still holdin’ up?”</p><p>David shrugged again. “As well as they’re able.”</p><p>The look he received for that went far beyond unimpressed. “Real glass half full sort of guy, ain'tcha?”</p><p>“I’m not trying to be morbid or anything,” he defended. “I mean… we’re fine. That’s all I can think to say about it.”</p><p>“Your Dad like his new job?” Race asked.</p><p>“More than his last one.”</p><p>Race snorted. “I bet. How’s your Ma?”</p><p>“Happy my father has a job.”</p><p>“Fair enough. How ‘bout your sister?” Race tried next. “Haven’t seen her ‘round.”</p><p>“She’s been studying.”</p><p>“Right. The incumbent Miss Sarah. How’s that goin’?”</p><p>“Oh.” David thought about it for a moment. “Fine, I think. She hasn’t needed any new books in a while so… I think that means we finally have all the necessary material. Now it’s just a matter of working through it.”</p><p>Race squinted. “But what about her, you know… I mean, that’s a lot to manage.”</p><p>David considered the question for a moment. “I… think she’s alright. She hasn’t said anything to the contrary.”</p><p>“Okay,” Race said, rolling his eyes. He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “Fine. I give up. That’s all I got for guesses.”</p><p>“Tough luck,” David said.</p><p>Race kicked him again. “How’s about you take pity on me for tryin’?”</p><p>“Why should I?” he asked, kicking Race back as he took another sip of his drink.</p><p>“’Cause you been thinkin’ ‘bout it all day–”</p><p>“I haven’t,” he lied.</p><p>He was ignored “–and maybe if you actually talk about it you won’t be thinkin’ ‘bout it all night.”</p><p>People assumed newsies were dumb. Or implied it. David’s classmates and teachers would snicker and smirk when they brought up his work. On the rare and unwelcome occasion one of them—or, in the case of one notable afternoon that David actively tried to forget, one of the board members—saw David selling, they made it clear what they thought of his “extracurricular activities”. Even regular customers seemed to have reservations. There was a hint of pity and bemusement when a customer handed him a nickel and asked for change.</p><p>David knew better.</p><p>The newsies were many things—rowdy, rambunctious, driven, supportive, argumentative, prying, sharp tongued, kind—but they were not dumb.</p><p>Sometimes he wished they were.</p><p>“Davey.”</p><p>“Race.”</p><p>“Daaaveeey”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Daaaaavveeeeeyyyy.”</p><p>“What are you even–”</p><p>“Daaaaaaaaaavvveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyy–”</p><p>“Fine. FINE.”</p><p>Race stopped.</p><p>David set down his mug and folded his hands on the table. He looked down at his fingers—pale and spindly, dry and cracking at the nails—as he thought over how best to approach the topic without…</p><p>He decided on: “Jack told me you all have a Christmas tradition?”</p><p>”Course,” Race said easily. “Me and JoJo usually rally the troops to make ourselves presentable for Mass, then–”</p><p>“Sorry,” he interrupted, “I meant… Jack said something about presents?”</p><p>“Oh, <em>that,</em>” Race grinned. “Yeah. We get each other presents.”</p><p>“Everyone?”</p><p>“Course everyone.”</p><p>It had been almost half a year and David still had no idea how many newsies there were in Manhattan. The number changed every day. Some left the business for shoe shining, others found work on shops. A few lucky ones came from families who managed to scrape by enough to let them stop. A few sorry souls decided to risk it in the factories. And it wasn’t like they were ever still enough for David to count. And then there were the nicknames—he was still trying to figure out where Bumlets came from and who the hell Pie Eater was. Only one thing for certain: there were a lot of newsies.</p><p>So all he could think to respond was: “That’s a lot of presents.”</p><p><em>Davey, buddy, you’re a great pal and all but god are you dumb sometimes.</em> “Everyone don’t buy everyone a present. You get one person a present and someone gets one for you.”</p><p>“Oh!” That did make more sense… except for one part: “How do you coordinate that?”</p><p>The look he got in answer was distinctly haunted.</p><p>David pursed his lips. “Ah.”</p><p>“There’s supposed to be this whole big system that’s older than any of us,” Race explained, “but most of the time it’s just a scramble.”</p><p>“I’ll bet,” David said. “So by whatever mysterious means you use to coordinate it in a given year, it’s set up so that one person ends up buying a present for someone else, and then someone else buys them a present, and everyone exchanges on Christmas morning?”</p><p>Race nodded. “Yep.”</p><p>“Okay,” He said.</p><p>
  <em>It’s not an option then. They have an established plan and tradition. You don’t want to push in on that. Imagine how it would look. They’d know. He’d know. Leave it. Don’t ask. Do not–</em>
</p><p>David closed his eyes and forced out the words: “Do you know who has Jack this year?”</p><p>“That would be yours truly,” Race said with a wink, before once again taking a drink.</p><p>“Oh. Okay.” David drummed his fingers on the table. “Does anyone ever… get a present for more than one person?”</p><p>Race held up a finger, holding the conversation there, as he finished taking a few more gulps of cider. He set the mug down with an “ahhh”, then asked: “How many more questions ‘till we get to the one you actually wanna ask me?”</p><p>David blinked, startled. Then he grimaced.</p><p>He really wished Race was dumber.</p><p>“I was gonna give him a new pair of mitts, but if you wanna–”</p><p>David looked back across the table. “What?”</p><p>Race stopped and tilted his head “You’re trying to figure out what Jack wants for Christmas, right?”</p><p>David shook his head. “No. No I know what I want to, I mean, what I <em>might</em> get him. I just…” he paused, then, lamely, finished with: “I didn’t know if I could?”</p><p>“Why?” Race asked, squinting.</p><p>He shrugged.</p><p>Race’s eyes narrowed even more. “Okay…”</p><p>“It’s just… I want to,” he tried to explain. “But I don’t want Jack to think it’s some sort of… charity. Or that I felt pressured to give him a present because he gave me one.”</p><p>Race took another drink, considering the point. Then he nodded and said: “If he starts talkin’ like that I’ll smack him.”</p><p>David couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Davey, I will line the boys up,” Race promised. “Hell, they’ll line themselves up. Like getting’ papes in the mornin’ we’s is all ready to take a shot at Jack when he starts gettin’ down on himself. Don’t you worry.”</p><p>David took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”</p><p>“Jesus, you really are worked up over this.” Race’s tone could only be described as <em>wonderous</em>. David tried not to take it as an affront. “Davey; it’s a present. It’s a Christmas present. You don’t gotta go acting like it’s this huge deal.”</p><p>David took another deep breath. “I know.”</p><p>“You’re overthinkin’ this,” Race said, just in case his previous statement wasn’t clear enough.</p><p>His previous statement had been perfectly clear, but David ignored his nagging frustration and simply said: “I know.”</p><p>“Then stop.”</p><p>“It’s not that easy.”</p><p>“It is,” Race insisted. “You just say: hey, brain, shut up. And then if that don’t work you go and do somethin’ else ‘til it does.”</p><p>The very idea was laughable; David’s brain was never quiet. It never stopped. It twisted and turned and tangled. Work and distractions were a momentary relief, but, even then, he would find himself drifting away. <em>Lost in thought.</em> That was a kind way to put it. That’s what his father kept telling his mother when they didn’t think he could hear them. He said it kindly too, like it was a compliment. Like David’s swirling mind was anything other than a danger. He was never <em>lost in thought.</em> He was consumed by them. Devoured. His mind ate itself from the inside, spitting itself back out and reforming so that every memory was coated in bile, dissolving in the acid, a step ahead—<em>he’s always a step ahead, our David</em>—of his eventual decay, his inevitable transformation into a bitter and lonely old man with nothing in his life because he just never could manage to make himself shut <em>up–</em></p><p>But Race didn’t need to know that.</p><p>“I’ll try that. Thank you, Race.”</p><p>“Course, Davey,” Race said with an easygoing grin. “What’re friends for.”</p><p>..........</p><p>“Up a bit… there.”</p><p>David pressed his left hand down hard, holding the board steady. With his right, he took the nail out of his mouth and lined it up. He shifted his left hand, careful not to let the board slip, and held the nail in place. He picked up the hammer and—<em>thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk</em>—drove the nail through. He sat back on his knees and let his father lean in between him and the window.</p><p>His father ran his hand along the seams of the new "moulding". One of the unexpected benefits of his new job was easy access to decrepit wooden crates. They'd managed to collect a pile of servicable wood. All throughout the tenement building, box sides propped up wobbly tables and replaced floorboards. Half-removed delivery lables peeked out of every corner. 

</p><p>Knarled fingers trailed across the faded letters that had once identified the box’s content and origin. <em>IER.</em> Without the rest of the word it was indecipherable.</p><p>“That should do it,” his father said with a nod. “Shall we test?”</p><p>David held up the piece of newspaper. It fluttered in the breeze.</p><p>His father grinned and shrugged. “Better.”</p><p>David chuckled. His father’s smile widened.</p><p>David moved the candle away from the wall. He shifted back to lean against the side of the bed, tucking his legs up and resting his arms on his knees. He looked up at the still-drafty window, considering.</p><p>“Maybe the Nowaks would give us some of their leftover woodfiller,” he mused.</p><p>“Only fair,” his father said, “considering you were the one that fixed the gaps in their window frame.”</p><p>David hummed. “But Mrs. Nowak did let Mama use her line that week the laundry backed up. So she might already consider that debt repaid.”</p><p>“She would.”</p><p>“Something else is bound to break before the end of the month,” David pointed out. “I can trade for it then. And maybe then we could patch the wall.”</p><p>“Don’t patch the wall. It’s the only way we get heat in here.”</p><p>David sighed at the familiar joke. “If you slept with the door open...”</p><p>“You snore.”</p><p>“I don’t snore.”</p><p>”Les snores.”</p><p>”Not loudly.”</p><p>“What we should do is make Mr. Osmond explain why he decided to build a shed in the corner of this tenement in particular. The Hochmans never have to worry about their feet freezing while the stove is hot.”</p><p>“I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from antagonizing the landlord.”</p><p>“You sound so much like your mother.”</p><p>David must have made a face because his father laughed and ruffled his hair.</p><p>“In any case,” David said, “if we fix the remaining gaps in the window frame and find and fix the cracks in the wall and maybe raise the door a bit, we could block the draft and make it easier for the heat to get in here.”</p><p>“That’s quite the list. You better get to it.”</p><p>“Tata,” David said. “I can’t fix up the apartment on my own.”</p><p>His father shrugged, unrepentant. “You’ve basically done everything else on your own. And you didn’t need my help with the window.”</p><p>“I did,” he argued. “You spotted.”</p><p>“You were moving the board to the right spot before I even started talking,” was the fond response. His father patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. I like spending time with you too.”</p><p>David ducked as he felt his cheeks go warm.</p><p>His father chuckled and patted his shoulder again. “Speaking of things that you can’t hide from me, what was it you wanted to talk about?”</p><p>David tipped his head back against the mattress and groaned. “Really?”</p><p>“I’ve known you your whole life, David. I was bound to pick up a thing or two,” His father grunted as he shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, moving back to sit beside David, leaning back against the bed, his legs stretched out. David rescued the candle from being knocked over and placed it between them. “So there is something else?”</p><p>David nodded. “Um… so… Jack gave me a Chanukah present.”</p><p>“A Chanukha present?” His father tipped his head to the side. “That’s… odd.”</p><p>David huffed a little laugh. “I mean… a bit. It’s not really his fault. Some of the other newsies sort of put him up to it. Not the present part, but the Chanukah present part… does that make sense?”</p><p>His father smiled. “Sure.”</p><p>“Right.” David continued. “I mean that… he said he wanted to, uh, to give me something.” He ignored the fluttery feeling the thought still inspired. “Because it’s … you know. It’s his tradition. But he didn’t want it to seem like he was disrespecting my faith so it was sort of like a compromise.”</p><p>“Oh.” He looked up. His father was still smiling, but his expression had softened. “That is good of him.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David agreed. “I…” he cleared his throat. “So I was thinking of getting him a Christmas present?”</p><p>His father nodded. “Yes.”</p><p>“Would that… be okay?”</p><p>His father’s smile widened. “Yes. What were you thinking of getting him?”</p><p>David shrugged. “I don’t know…”</p><p>“‘You don’t know’ as in you have no idea what to get him or ‘you don’t know’ as in you know what you want to get him and you’re not sure if it is possible?”</p><p>David really did have to work on being less easy to read. “The second.”</p><p>“What were you thinking of?”</p><p>“A sketchbook,” he admitted. “He gave me his last one and I don’t think he’s replaced it,” he shrugged. “It’s not exactly special but I had a few ideas about how I could make it more useful.”</p><p>“That sounds like a wonderful idea," his father said, “but I don’t understand what the problem is.”</p><p> “The problem is that I can’t find one.”</p><p>“No? Hmmm…” his father looked off into the distance, thinking. He turned back to David. “Have you been up to that new Goodman store?”</p><p>David tried to place the name, but… “No.”</p><p>His father nodded. “It’s not close but Mr. Klein did say some of their prices are reasonable if you know where to look. We have a delivery to Union Square scheduled for Wednesday. I might be able to stop in and take a look for you.”</p><p>“No,” he said. “I mean… I don’t mean in the shops. I can’t afford that. Do we have any old notebooks?”</p><p>His father considered it for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”</p><p>David shrugged. “That’s alright. I haven’t asked Mr. Levy yet. He might have something. And they probably need help around the shop right now so I could figure out a trade.”</p><p>“In all your spare time?” his father asked, tone wry and dry.</p><p>
  <em>…Right.</em>
</p><p>“I’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“David,” he looked up at the stern tone. “Do you need some money?”</p><p>“No,” he said immediately.</p><p>“The book that you’ve got your eye on,” his father said, “how much is it?”</p><p>“I don’t–”</p><p>“David.”</p><p>He stopped. He sighed. He muttered: “Eighty-five cents.”</p><p>His father looked at him steadily. Then he closed his eyes.</p><p>David looked away, ashamed.</p><p>He shouldn’t have said anything. He knew before he said it that he shouldn’t have said anything. He’d known for days that he shouldn’t say anything because he knew it was not an option.</p><p>But it was just… it was perfect.</p><p>He’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when he saw it. A man had bumped into him, hard, and yelled at him to watch where he was going. He hadn’t even cared. He only cared about the red leather book in the window.</p><p>It was perfect.</p><p>Until he found out the price.</p><p>He must have looked pathetic, walking out of the store with his head bowed, empty handed. He’d tried to push the book out of his mind. He’d asked the boys and Mr. Hochman and Mr. Klein and even Mr. Kloppmann, trying to at least find something suitable since he couldn’t give Jack anything more than that. He’d failed even in that venture.</p><p>Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe he hadn’t even really tried. Maybe if he could cast that small red leather book from his mind, he would be able to search without feeling guilty. But, try as he might, the thought wouldn’t budge. He just kept circling back to what was impossible.</p><p>“That’s not expensive.”</p><p>David looked up. “What?”</p><p>His father was not looking at him. He was staring straight ahead. His eyes were distant. Then he shut them tightly. Tight enough that they crinkled at the corners. His forehead and brow were furrowed. His lips tightened and twitched down. Every line on his face was etched deep, and looked even deeper in the flickering candlelight.</p><p>He looked old. He looked tired.</p><p>His father took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “That is not too expensive, David.”</p><p>David didn’t…. he didn’t understand.</p><p>“It’s… it’s more than two days’ wages.”</p><p>His father shook his head. “It isn’t–”</p><p>“It is now,” he admitted. “And with the weather getting worse our sales are going to keep going down.”</p><p>Another deep sigh. “I’ll give you the money.”</p><p>David was already shaking his head. “No, I can’t–”</p><p>“I’m offering.”</p><p>“No,” he said again. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“David,” his father put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s a good idea. It's a great idea. And… David.” He laughed. It sounded forced. “David, we can afford to do things that make others happy.”</p><p>When he was a boy, David thought his father was the strongest, bravest, greatest man in the world. He used to argue with Benny about it. Even back then he knew it was childish; the traits he boasted about to best Benny’s arguments weren’t the traits he actually admired. He would tell Benny about how his father always beat Mr. Hochman in arm wrestling while he thought about how safe his father’s hugs made him feel. He would tell Benny about how his father was the smartest man in the world while he thought about how his father always made David explain things until he understood every part of David’s stories. Above all he admired his father’s positivity. He hadn’t had that word back then so he called it his light. His father was like the sun: he made days brighter. When he focused on you, you felt warm. He complimented and congratulated and cared.</p><p>How much of that had just been a façade?</p><p>“But what if we can’t?” he croaked out.  “We… we can’t risk it.”</p><p>“We're not–”</p><p>“No.” He made his voice stronger. Steadier. “You don’t have to protect me, Tata, I know that we aren’t– we haven’t rebuilt our savings yet and–”</p><p>“Have you been looking at our finances?”</p><p>“No,” he said. Immediately. Quickly. Too quickly. <em>Damn it.</em></p><p>The hand slipped off his shoulder. It fell to the floor. “What were you doing in my things?”</p><p>He looked away from his father’s stormy eyes. “I just had to…”</p><p>“Had to what?” his father prompted.</p><p>“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I won’t–” his voice croaked. He swallowed, and, clearer, said: “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. But… but I just… I had to <em>know.</em>”</p><p>“Know what?”</p><p>“That we’re…” he didn’t even know anymore. “I just had to make sure.”</p><p>His father was quiet. Then, slowly, dangerously, he said: “I don’t need you checking my math.”</p><p>David shook his head hard. “I wasn’t. I just…” he swallowed and lamely finished with: “I just wanted to help.”</p><p>“With what?”</p><p>“With the savings.”</p><p>His father’s eyes closed. His jaw clenched. His mouth pressed into a tight line. It was like his face had shut itself entirely, blocking David out. “We don’t need help with the savings.”</p><p>David shook his head. He just kept shaking his head. “But–”</p><p>“David,” his father warned.</p><p>David’s mouth wasn’t done, though. “But I could– I know it isn’t much but over time–”</p><p>“We agreed that you could keep selling so long as the money went towards your education.”</p><p>“And it has,” he insisted. “I have enough set aside for my books and materials and admission tests and I can pay you back for this semester’s–”</p><p>“You don’t have to pay us back.”</p><p>“But…” he felt like he was scrambling, dangling in midair. He sounded like it too, lost and needy and pathetic even to his own ears, but he didn’t <em>understand–</em> “but the savings–”</p><p>His father’s jaw clenched tighter. “Are well in hand.”</p><p>“For now, but what if there’s another storm? What if–” he flapped a hand towards the window “–what if this doesn’t hold? Or the glass breaks? Or–”</p><p> “I do not need you to remind me–”</p><p>“Or what if Les gets sick?” David tried, heart pounding at the thought. “Or Sarah? Or Mama? Isaac’s always at the hospital now and Dr. Abbott had to raise his prices–”</p><p>His father’s hand slammed the floor. “Damn it, David, I can afford to help my son buy a present for his friend!”</p><p>“No, we can’t afford to make such stupid–”</p><p>“<em>Don’t</em> tell me how to run my house!”</p><p>David flinched.</p><p>“Is everything alright in there?”</p><p>David froze.</p><p>He heard his father a suck in a shaky breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him drag his hand down his face.</p><p>“Of course, moja droga,” his father called back. “We will be out in a minute.”</p><p>Neither of them moved.</p><p>The air was thick between them. They didn’t look at each other. No... his father was looking at him. He could feel it. He just didn’t dare look up.</p><p>After a moment, his father stood with a sharp inhale, pulling himself up by the bed frame. David listened as his father limped over to the other side of the room. He heard the tinny tinkle of his mother’s music box. It cut off after two notes. His father crossed back to the other side of the bed and sat down on the edge.</p><p>David kept his eyes down. The patch of floor he had been focused on was now occupied by his father’s feet. His socks were pooling around his ankles. For all her skills, David’s mother never got the hang of knitting socks; they were always too loose on the calves. And his father hated sock suspenders more than he had reason to. As a result, David had many memories of sitting at his father’s feet and looking over to see the sliver of leg between the top of his sock and the hem of his trousers.</p><p>The scars on his father’s calve shredded every ounce of comfort those memories once held.</p><p>There were only a few, so thin that they might one day disappear. They still disturbed him. Perhaps it was because he remembered the other scars, the ones that deepened into gouges the higher they climbed, blood oozing from the wounds, drying and sloughing off in brown flakes, spurting when he moved, bright red staining white bone– no, those must have healed too. David just remembered how bad they had been on the day.</p><p>That day had been the first time he’d seen Mr. Hochman cry.</p><p>He had been alone when Mr. Hochman ran in. Tears were running down his cheeks. His words were caught in his mouth, crumbling in mid-air—<em>accident</em> and <em>hurt</em> and <em>your father</em> and <em>I’m so sorry, David, I’m so sorry. I tried.</em> Sarah and Les had been at the park, giving David the peace and quiet he needed. He was going to finish his summer assignments early so that he could enjoy his much-needed break. Mama was upstairs with Mrs. Hochman. David had convinced her to take an afternoon off. He had told her she had time.</p><p>He’d gone upstairs with Mr. Hochman. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t been asked to. He hadn’t been told to. He just had. He also didn’t remember what anyone had said. He just remembered watching his mother’s face, hoping it would help him understand because he just… couldn’t.</p><p>First had been shock: eyes widening, mouth pressing tight, sharp inhale. Then dread: shoulders dropping, embroidery hoop clattering to the floor, face paling—her cheeks had been bright red when they first burst in; she’d been laughing. From there David could not follow the flurry of emotions she flew through. Her eyes welled, her expression shattered to pieces, her hand rose shakily to cover her mouth and a snatch of the most terrible noise came out of her mouth– then silence. Stony resolve. She’d gone with Mr. Hochman to bring her husband home.</p><p>David went back downstairs. To the kitchen table. He put aside his finished essay—the last assignment on his list. He waited for his siblings to return.</p><p>He sat Les down. He knelt down in front of him and explained what was happening.</p><p>He held his little brother as he sobbed.</p><p>He passed Les off to Mrs. Hochman’s open arms.</p><p>He pulled Sarah into their parents’ bedroom so that she could fall apart.</p><p>He helped Mrs. Hochman prepare supper.</p><p>He helped Mr. Hochman carry his father to bed.</p><p>He held his father’s leg up while Mr. Hochman changed the bandages.</p><p>He sat his father up so that his mother could try and make him eat.</p><p>He sat with his mother as they tried to make each other eat.</p><p>He sat with his mother as they tried to make Sarah and Les eat.</p><p>He sat with Sarah as she tried to understand what David still didn’t.</p><p>He sat with his mother and watched as each expense added another furrow to her brow.</p><p>He sat with his mother and calculated their odds of survival.</p><p>He sat with his mother as she tried to plan for a future that no longer existed.</p><p>“David.”</p><p>David stood. He sat beside his father.</p><p>He looked at the dollar bill. “Are you sure?”</p><p>The answer was firm and certain: “Yes.”</p><p>The bill fluttered in the draft.</p><p>“Alright,” he said.</p><p>He took the money from his father’s gnarled hands and brought it to his lap. He ran his fingers over the soft worn paper, along the edges where the ink had faded, where countless others had run their fingers, each for only an instant, before passing it off to the next weary soul. Funny that such an innocuous object could cause so much pain.</p><p>“David.” He looked up at his father. His smile looked very sad. “I know this summer was hard. On all of us…” his voice got softer the more he spoke. As did his smile. He put his hand around David’s shoulders and squeezed his arm. “But… we are okay. I promise. You do not have to worry anymore.”</p><p>“I know Tata,” he recited dutifully.</p><p>“Good,” His father said. He squeezed his arm again, pulling him tight against him. “Now, how about we go sit with your mother while she finishes her lace? I’m sure she’s started to worry about why we’re taking so long—probably thinks we’ve broken the window.”</p><p>David forced a smile. “Alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Race’s full story, without David’s half-minded hmms: “I hold on to the window with my fingertips, but then I’m stuck! And Albert starts laughing! So I say, “Can you help me!?’ But he laughs even more! So I scream ‘I’m about to fall out of a window, so stop laughing at me and help me, you pain in the ass! But guess what? He doesn’t. So I killed him. I have to dispose of the body. Can you help me?<br/>Cosa mi consiglia: What do you recommend?<br/>Tu scegli: you choose<br/>No… lascio decidere a lei: No… I’ll let you decide.<br/>Facciamolo! Getteremo il suo corpo nell'Hudson! Si laverà a riva tra una settimana, e–: Let’s do it! We’ll throw his body in the Hudson. It will wash ashore in a week, and–<br/>Ho accettato di aiutarti a uccidere qualcuno? Did I agree to help you kill someone?<br/>Figurati: Don’t worry about it</p><p>(I’ve done my best but I did use an odd combo of google translate and travel websites so if the result is haphazard it’s because my approach was too)</p><p>(also, as always, if there is anyone reading this that actually speaks Latin, just know that I’m trying)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Marrowsky: December 22, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi folks. Hope you’re well. This is still sad. Sorry.  </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: implied/referenced bullying, implied/referenced corporal punishment</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Marrowsky</strong> <em>n.</em> An error in speech in which corresponding consonants, vowels, or morphemes are switched between two words in a phrase; commonly heard as slips of the tongue but are also used intentionally as a play on words. [Polish, purportedly named after a Polish count, whose speech impediment caused him to do this. In English this is called a spoonerism, after the Oxford don and ordained minister William Archibald Spooner, who reputedly had the same impediment]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
<strong>December 22, 1899</strong>
</p><p><em>Maybe they won’t notice,</em> he thought, trying to pick the last few stubborn bits of gravel out of his cheek.</p><p>Yeah. Right.</p><p>They were huddled against the school today, lodged into the corner where the stairs met the building. The makeshift shelter offered little protection.</p><p>They perked up at the groan of the hinges and stood, dusting the snow off their coats. They hurried to meet him, arms crossed, mittened hands tucked into the crooks of their elbows, faces buried in their scarves.</p><p>David steeled himself for the inevitable barrage. <em>It's been over half an hour! It’s almost sunset! What took you so long? You're lucky Mama’s out today. She might even be back by now. She’s going to be furious. Why do you have to make a mess of everything? Don't you know you're ruining–</em></p><p>He held the gate open as they walked through.</p><p>Les looked up at him. He scowled. He looked down at his feet, shoulders hunching. Sullenness always made him shrink.</p><p>Sarah stopped and stood still, a few feet away, straight-backed. Staring. Jaw tight. Eyes dark.</p><p>They’d noticed.</p><p>..........</p><p>The tenement roof was lined with a two-foot brick wall. According to Mrs. Hochman, it was so that people didn’t fall off, not like <em>that poor woman, may her memory be a blessing, that was horrible, her husband was just– oh what was her name, Georg?</em> His mother had gone white and declared that that was enough of that sort of talk. David hadn’t understood how a two-foot wall would prevent that from happening again. His father didn’t let him ask Mr. Osmond.</p><p>The wall also did little to stop the wind that whipped between the buildings. David pressed his back against the freezing brick and pulled his legs in tighter. The shift made his stomach ache but it kept pressure off of his hip. He brushed his finger against his temple, breath catching at the burn. He nudged the sharp little– a clatter, fading as it rolled away from him. Okay, he was pretty sure that was the last stone. Except for the one lodged in his throat.</p><p>He wiped at his burning eyes with the cuff of his coat.</p><p>
<em>Mr. Jacobs, if you can’t get a hold of yourself–</em>
</p><p>
<em>Christ, look at him.</em>
</p><p>
<em>I always knew he was pathetic, but, really, you’d think he'd have some shame–</em>
</p><p>A clang. The ladder rattled. A hand, then another hand, then his sister. She hauled herself up and onto the roof. She had changed out of her school clothes and into the skirt and shirt she’d stained beyond repair. Her coat hung open and flapped around her knees with each step forward. She was also wearing their mother’s old apron and his over-laden paper satchel.</p><p>She set the bag down beside him. She brushed away a spot of snow he’d missed then dropped to her knees. She set out the supplies. A jar of water. A bowl. A rag. A candle. Matches.</p><p>The jar was opened. The water was poured into the bowl. The rag was dropped in. A match was struck. She lit the candle and held it up to his cheek. He tipped his head back, up, to the side, watching her from the corner of his eye. The single flame cast odd shadows on her face. She looked gaunt. She looked drained.</p><p>She sighed and set the candle down beside her. She still looked drained.</p><p>“It would be easier if we did this inside,” she said, tying her hair back.</p><p>He shook his head. “I don’t want Les to see.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “He already saw.”</p><p>“I know, but…” he swallowed, then, uselessly, repeated: “I don’t want him to see.”</p><p>Her lips twitched to a frown. “Alright.”</p><p>She wrung out the rag and scooted closer, holding out up to his face. She paused, barely an inch from his skin. He could feel the steam curling off the cotton.</p><p>He took a deep breath in and seized his body into stillness. “Just do it.”</p><p>It wasn’t quick work. The cold dug into their bones and hollowed them out. With an unsteady hand, she blotted away the dirt and blood that caked his jaw. The hot water ran in rivulets down his neck, over his collarbones, catching on the collar of his undershirt. The warmth seeped into the fabric, burning then pleasant then cool then freezing. The rag scratched with every brush. His shoulder jumped under his sister’s firm grip. Her knuckles turned white as she quelled his flinches. The hard line of her mouth turned down at the edges. The furrow between her brows deepened.</p><p>He realized, quite suddenly, that this was the closest they’d been in weeks.</p><p>She leaned back. In the motion he caught sight of the tear track on her cheek. It was smudged along her cheekbone, like she’d tried to wipe it away.</p><p>“I think you and Les should start walking home without me.”</p><p>Sarah dipped the rag back in the bowl and wrung it out onto the roof. The hot water melted a lopsided circle in the dusting of snow, joining their footprints as the only disruptions in the field of white. Droplets dripped from the edges. He felt them seep into the leg of his trouser as she lifted it back to his cheek.</p><p>If it weren’t for the muscle jumping in her jaw, he would have thought she hadn’t heard him.</p><p>“I don’t want you to have to wait in the cold,” he tried to reason. “And sales are dropping. We can’t keep Jack waiting just because I’m–”</p><p>He hissed as she nudged the largest scrape. She grabbed his chin and held it in place. His hands automatically clenched into fists. He dug his nails into his palms, letting the sting distract him from the burn of the rough cloth against his raw skin.</p><p>“Sorry,” she muttered, scrubbing at the wound. “There’s… it’s really dirty.”</p><p>He hummed in acknowledgement. Her grip was too firm for him to nod. His teeth were clenched too tight to say anything.</p><p>She continued rubbing, moving from his cheek to his temple. He did his best not to move, breathing shallowly through his nose. It was the only sound between them.</p><p>The cloth nudged the corner of his eye and stopped. Hesitated. Then it trembled across his eyelid, feather light. He tried not to clench his eyes too tight, unlike earlier, when he'd screwed them so shut he didn't think he'd ever open them again, holding his breath as the pebbles hit his eyelid, so close to scratching, a paper-thin barrier between him and blindness, tears welling in the dark, scalp burning as Robbie's nails scratched and dug in deep while Ed laughed and Tripp goaded and James cautioned <em>Robbie, that's enough–</em></p><p>A splash. He blinked his eyes open. The rag hung on the edge of the bowl. The water sloshed side to side. Sarah was drying her hands off on the edge of their mother’s apron. He shut his eyes tight then opened them again. He clenched his fists again, ignoring his body’s desperate urge to touch his face and hide away, like a mutt curled up in an alley, licking its wounds.</p><p>Sarah helped with that task by grabbing his right arm.</p><p>“Hey, what–” She took out the cufflink and slipped it into the apron pocket. “Sarah–”</p><p>She shoved his coat and shirt sleeve up to his elbow.</p><p>Faded brown and faint yellow. Putrid green and murky blue. Mottled plum and lurid rose. In the weak candlelight they almost looked tolerable.</p><p>Sarah let go of his sleeves. They slipped back down, hiding the marks of the shame that clawed at his chest. Her other hand still circled his wrist. It slipped down to his hand, fingers in his palm, thumb rubbing between his purple-stained knuckles.</p><p>“They’re getting worse.”</p><p>David took his hand from hers. “Not really. This is nowhere near as bad as last April.”</p><p>The muscle in her jaw gave another twitch. “I don’t exactly want it to get to that point again.”</p><p>“I mean,” he tried for a smile, “that’s not really my goal either.”</p><p>She glared. “Then I don’t understand why you won’t just–”</p><p>“Because I can’t,” he interrupted.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Sarah,” he sighed, “we’ve talked about this.”</p><p>She nodded, smile placid and threatening. "And we'll talk about it again until you finally see reason and ask them for–"</p><p>"I'm not getting them involved in this," he snapped out.</p><p>"No," she drawled. "Of course you're not. Because that would mean you'd have to swallow your pride."</p><p>"This his nothing to do with my pride."</p><p>"Then what is it?"</p><p>"I already told you–"</p><p>“No. You’ve–” she jabbed her finger into his chest “–said no and that you’d just be careful and then when it happened again you said no and that you’d be more careful.”</p><p>He shrugged, buttoning up his shirt to avoid her accusatory gaze. “And I will–”</p><p>“What happened today, then?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“Really?” She barked out a laugh. It was noise born of bitterness rather than humour. Something in his chest twisted at the sound. “Because it looks like they ground your face into the pavement.”</p><p>He knew she was exaggerating for effect. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that she was exactly right.</p><p>“I don’t mean that they didn’t…” He brought his legs back up to his chest and wound his arms around them, trying to abate the shivers that were starting to quake down his spine. “I just meant… it was unavoidable.”</p><p>She snorted. “Seems to be a lot of that lately.”</p><p>“Sarah–”</p><p>“Are they getting out of class early?” she demanded. “Waiting for you? I don’t understand how they keep managing to grab you! It was never like this last year—even in fucking <em>April.</em>”</p><p>“They’re not getting out of class early.”</p><p>There was a spot on the apron. Right where the material had gone dark with water. He’d almost missed it in the faint light—moon and candle, bask of cold blue, flicker of dim gold. A single rust-coloured dot. It was growing. Spreading at the edges, or… fading. Blurring in with the moisture that discoloured the rest of the apron, that hid the other offending specs. He watched it soak into the fabric.</p><p>He did not watch comprehension dawn in his sister’s eyes.</p><p>“Who’s keeping you.”</p><p>It wasn’t a question. He took that as permission not to answer.</p><p>“Why are they keeping you?” she tried again.</p><p>David threaded his hands together, even though he knew it wasn’t enough to hide his bruised knuckles. “They just want to talk.”</p><p>Silence. Then a huff and: “I still don’t see why you can’t just talk to Mrs. Aldridge.”</p><p>He closed his eyes. “Because I can’t.”</p><p>“Why. Not.”</p><p>“Because she’s busy. Because she doesn’t have the sort of influence you think she does,” he listed. “Because I already rely on her favours too much. Because she’s already done enough for me.”</p><p>His sister scoffed. “She’s done enough, alright.”</p><p>He sighed then winced. Scowling used a lot of his face. “I never should have told you–”</p><p>“Of course not. Because why would you tell me anything?”</p><p>“Sarah–”</p><p>“And excuse me for not lauding her charitable nature when she’s the one that made sure you can’t fight back!”</p><p>“Don’t.” He swallowed roughly, ignoring the anger that choked him almost as much as his shame. His guilt. “That’s not what she did and you know it.”</p><p>“That is what she did. You just won’t admit it.”</p><p>“You’re being unfair. She didn’t intend to–”</p><p>“I don’t care about her intentions, David!”</p><p>“So I guess I should return the recommendation letter, then?”</p><p>The candle had gone out. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was their yelling. Maybe it was his sister’s flinch away from him.</p><p>She dropped her chin down and scowled at her hands. Even in the dim light of the sun setting behind the clouds he could see her cheeks flush.</p><p>He leaned back. “I thought so.”</p><p>There was no satisfaction in the victory. And he still sounded defeated. Felt it too.</p><p>Sarah peeked up. Her damp eyes gleamed.</p><p>David sighed. He moved over. She hesitated, then shifted forwards, skirt dragging against the roof. She untangled it from around her legs as she sat beside him. With each tug of the fabric, her arm nudged his. Whatever tension there had been was gone, dissipated, like blood in a bowl of water, like blood on dirty aprons, like blood on dirty pavement. There was no forgiveness. They didn’t need it. They didn’t have it in them. Instead there was… forgetfulness? Fatigue. That was it.</p><p>She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Remember when things were simple? And all we had to worry about was… getting home on time? And how we were going to keep Les busy? And what was for supper?”</p><p>He leaned his head on hers. “And who got to dry the dishes and who had to wash them?”</p><p>“And who would get tucked in first?”</p><p>“And who’s turn it was to be the captain?”</p><p>“And whether we could ever sneak past Mama to get the treasure?”</p><p>“I always gave us away, didn’t I?”</p><p>“She barely even had to look at you and you were confessing.”</p><p>They laughed quietly. Little exhales. They weren’t all that different from the sounds he’d made while she wiped the blood off his face.</p><p>“I don’t think things were simple, Sarah,” he said with a sigh. “I think we just didn’t know better.”</p><p>“You did.”</p><p>He lifted his head. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing. It’s just…” She sat up, pulling her legs in and curling down, chin between her knees. “I miss it. I miss… knowing. Now I just… I don’t know.”</p><p>She shrugged. It looked awkward and jerky, curled up as she was.</p><p>“Hey…” He nudged her arm. “What’s–”</p><p>“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s stupid. I mean, <em>fuck,</em> half of your face is just… raw and I’m–”</p><p>“Sarah.”</p><p>He saw the breath catch in her chest, the slight quiver in her shoulders, the flutter of lashes against the dark circles under her eyes. She closed her eyes fully as she exhaled, slow and even. She lowered her chin. Her knees pressed into her cheeks as she looked out at the snow-dusted roof.</p><p>“When you were studying for the Barnett exam,” she said slowly, “did it feel like…” Another stuttering breath. She curled up even tighter. “It’s just… it’s <em>hard.</em> And…” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because most of what I’ve learned has come so… easily. And things just haven’t been hard like this until now but…”</p><p>Her faint voice faded away.</p><p>He remembered another evening. He remembered the lingering dizziness of the fear that had choked him for hours, and how his body felt so heavy it was all he could do to remain standing. To breathe. Sweat had soaked his back and stuck his hair to his brow. They’d been sitting in this exact position but a few yards to the right, positioned to look out at the city. He hadn't spared the city a glance. He' simply watched his sister, his unshakable, unbreakable sister, crumble to pieces. That night, the chill of dread had been the only reprieve from the sweltering heat.</p><p>Even in the freezing wind, he still felt fear’s cold hand stroke down his spine.</p><p>“And you’re scared.”</p><p>She took in a shaky breath. “I– it’s just… what if after all this I just…” She shut her eyes tight, wrinkling her brow. She looked so much like their mother. “I can’t go back to the factories, David.”</p><p>It took a moment for him to register his dizziness. He took a slow deep breath and nodded.</p><p>“Okay,” he said. “Okay,” he said again, now to Sarah. “We could go to the library on Sunday morning?” he offered. “Maybe they’ve gotten some new books that could help.”</p><p>“I don’t need any new books,” she mumbled.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>She huffed. “Yes.”</p><p>“Okay…” he thought some more. “Well… you know you can always ask me if you have any questions. Or Mrs. Graham. Or Mr. Harrison. Since they’ve taken the test before.”</p><p>“No, I don’t–” she cut herself off, jaw working. “I don’t need help. I just–”</p><p>“Sarah,” he said, firm as steady as he could manage. “You know there’s nothing wrong with needing help–”</p><p>“No, I know, I just–”</p><p>“Then what is it? What can I–”</p><p>“Nothing, I don’t–”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And you’re not just saying that because you–”</p><p>“God, David! Sometimes I just want to talk without having you immediately try to fix everything, okay?”</p><p>The words echoed on the empty roof. They ricocheted like stones on pavement, flying up, scratching and scathing and cutting deep.</p><p>He swallowed heavily. “I’m just trying to help.”</p><p>“Well, could you just listen instead?” Sarah asked… no. Begged. Trembling voice, trembling hands, trembling shoulders.</p><p>
<em>And I'm the one who–</em>
</p><p>He shut his eyes and ignored the resulting sting. He ignored the warm trickle running down from his temple. He ignored the bitterness churning his stomach. “I thought I was.”</p><p>A thick sniffle. Quiet. Then: “Sorry.”</p><p>The sound of the city drifted up beneath them. They were probably hearing hundreds of people, fractions of their lives, incomprehensible and unimaginable. They were all tired. He knew they all had to be tired.</p><p>“I don’t think I like this,” she whispered.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what she was referring to. “Me neither.”</p><p>He felt a tentative nudge against his shoulder. He held out his arm. She cuddled into his side.</p><p>“It’s not all bad, though,” she said into his coat.</p><p>He leaned down, pressing his nose into the crown of her head. “No?”</p><p>“I had the girls practice their oratory skills by reading that book about decorum.”</p><p>He smiled into her hair. “Sarah.”</p><p>“Ms. Graham thought it was a wonderful idea,” she said imperiously. It was ruined by the wetness in her voice but he appreciated the effort. “She said it was perfectly appropriate for their reading level and an insightful reference for proper behaviour.”</p><p>He hummed his disbelief. She nudged her head up, bonking his nose.</p><p>“And while they were doing so,” she continued to say. “I finished sewing in the canvas inserts.”</p><p>He closed his eyes. “Thank you.”</p><p>She shifted, as though trying to burrow into his side. “He’s going to love it, David.”</p><p>He pulled her in tight. “I hope so.”</p><p>“I know so.” She let the silence settle in for a moment before breaking it again. “And apparently there’s such a thing as a spoonerism.”</p><p>He hummed a questioning note.</p><p>“It’s where you switch around letters between words in a sentence,” she explained. “It’s probably the most useful thing I’ve learned. Now when you get sick, we’ll be able to properly identify all your mistakes.”</p><p>He pinched her arm. She yelped and swatted at him. He wasn’t sure if it was a response to his inciting action or for his satisfied smile. Probably both.</p><p>He opened his eyes and looked down at her. She looked up, matching his grin. Her eyes darted away from his. The smile fell away.</p><p>He tilted his head in question. “What?”</p><p>She reached up to his temple and brushed it gently. He felt something wet smudge under her fingers. She pulled her hand back. She held it in front of her.</p><p>“Hey… David?” She whispered, eyes fixed on the blood on her thumb. “Are you… I mean, I know you’re not, but… um…”</p><p>He waited but… </p><p>She looked at him expectantly.</p><p>Their parents used to joke about how the two of them could have entire conversations through huffs and smirks. Les would always complain about how they would talk around each other, threading unspoken words into innocuous sentences, leaving him to scramble for the hidden messages. David used to be able to understand everything Sarah didn’t say. He didn’t know when that had changed.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>She just stared up at him. Then: “Nothing.”</p><p>She pushed herself up and stuffed everything back in the bag. She threw the water out onto the roof. It splattered across white snow, melting it, spreading, turning the white to dark grey. “We better get inside.” She turned around, smirking. “Mama will be home soon.”</p><p>David tried to match her grin. “Alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>‘Spoonerism’ only became a well-established term in the 1920s, but I still say there’s still the slightest possibility that Sarah came across the term in her studies. Slight. Miniscule. Itty bitty.</p><p>Also, look at me go. Writing a chapter under 4k. This will not happen again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Глазомер: December 24, 1899</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>May I present Heartfelt Gift Giving and Pining (reprise).  </p><p>Chapter specific warnings: hints of internalized ableism, referenced past character death, that specific sort of grief that comes during the holidays, self-esteem issues, and repression.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3></h3><p><strong>Глазомер</strong> (glazomer) <em>n.</em> ability to measure without any instruments, [Russian; from глаз (eye) + обмер (measurement)]</p>
<h3></h3><p>
  <strong>December 24, 1899</strong>
</p><p>“–avid? David?”</p><p>He jolted up with a gasp, back hitting the chair, jerking his head to see–</p><p>“No, no,” someone was saying. The hand on his shoulder pressed down with a steadying weight. “You’re alright.”</p><p>“I– what?”</p><p>He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He opened them and blinked to clear them. The blurry colours solidified into… his book, lying open. Pages of paper, fanned out, ink drying. He looked down; another piece of paper. The writing stopped halfway down the page: <em>The constitution outlines remarkable integration of executive powers within the branch. This allows the New Jersey state legislature–</em></p><p>Well.</p><p>He’d have to figure that out later.</p><p>Damn.</p><p>He raked his hand through his hair with a sigh. He reached for his… his…</p><p>His pencil was plucked out from behind his ear and set it on the table.</p><p>The chair beside him scratched against the uneven floor. His mother sat down, her hand still on his shoulder. Her other hand smoothed his hair back into a careful part.</p><p>She gave him an approximation of a smile. “You fell asleep,” she explained. “It did not look comfortable… especially with…”</p><p>He turned his scrapes away from her worried gaze. “Right. Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course.” She stroked his hair once more, then placed her hand on the table in front of him. Her finger tapped the half-finished sentence. “Perhaps it is time to go to bed.”</p><p>“But…” He checked; the lacy curtains were stark white against the black. “It can’t be that late?”</p><p>“Half-past eight,” his father answered.</p><p>David stiffened. A deep sense of foolishness and guilt followed; it wasn’t his father’s fault that he’d forgotten he was there, sitting not far away, well within his field of vision.</p><p>As was Les, for that matter, who was staring up at him with squinty-eyed suspicion.</p><p>They were in their usual positions, his father in the armchair, newspaper open, Les at his feet. His brother's homework was strewn across the floor—David’s old notes had been leafed into disarray and the pile of books were shoved to the side. Most nights, their positions signaled unbroachable companionship. Their company could only be interrupted by for worthy cause and by those they deemed worthy—Sarah with a good joke, Mama with a wry comment or stern command, and sometimes David if a question needed answering.</p><p>At the moment, they paid each other little mind. They were both watching him.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter what time it is,” his mother continued to say, ignoring their audience, “you are exhausted.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he insisted. He picked up his pencil. “And I still need to finish this.”</p><p>“When is it due?” she asked.</p><p>He nudged the page up so that the top of the page was covered by his open book. “Tuesday.”</p><p>“Tuesday?” her brows furrowed. “That is a short deadline.”</p><p>It wasn’t. He had finished his essay three nights ago.</p><p>He hummed in agreement.</p><p>She sighed. “Even so, you have all day tomorrow to work on it.”</p><p>He closed his eyes and shook his head. It only made him all the more aware of how dizzy he was. How heavy his eyelids felt. “I have more work to do tomorrow.”</p><p>She sighed again—worried, disappointed, somewhat annoyed. He was intimately familiar with the many variations of his family’s exhausted exhalations. It seemed to be the only sound he could inspire out of the people he cared about.</p><p>“David.” He looked up at his father’s stern voice. His lips were twitching. “It’s Christmas Eve. Go to bed.”</p><p>The teasing chaffed. “We don’t celebrate Christmas, Tata.”</p><p>“I won’t tell Rabbi Amos.”</p><p>“Rabbi Amos would have told you to go to bed an hour ago,” Les chirped. “He says sleep is important. Uh… fear is powerful but sleep drives it off?” he squinted, considering. “I don’t think that’s right.”</p><p>Their father chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. “You skipped a bit but I like that better.”</p><p>“I also remember a part about banishing sleep from ones’ eyes,” David said, pressing the heels of his hands against his brow bone. “I think that might be a better course of action.”</p><p>A chorus of sighs.</p><p>Maybe he should start thinking of his propensity for causing such reactions as a skill. Another lie for his application essays.</p><p>He still had so many application essays.</p><p>And the headache was back.</p><p>“David,” his mother said.</p><p>“Mama,” he replied.</p><p>“Go to bed.”</p><p> “I have to–”</p><p>“You don’t.”</p><p>His hands fell back on the table with a dull <em>thud.</em> “I should at least <em>try.</em>”</p><p>“And if you did, and if you finished it tonight, can you honestly say it would be of sufficient quality? Would it be your best work? Or would you wake up tomorrow, look at it again, and realize you have to revise it?”</p><p>“I–” The refute died on his tongue. That… damn it, that was a good point. “I don’t know,” he finished pitifully.</p><p>“I will take your lack of argument as agreement.” She gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then patted his back. “Come now; off to bed. Lesham, bring your things to the table so Sarah can look them over when she returns.”</p><p>Les groaned but gathered up his things. “Does this mean I have to go to bed too? It’s not even eight-thirty!”</p><p>“Watch your tone.” The note of threat in his mother’s voice—enough to warn, no more, no less—was so deeply familiar David almost teared up at the sound.</p><p>Okay, he really did need to go to sleep.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>“Wait.” He looked around for the clock. “Wait, it’s already half-past eight?”</p><p>“Um…” His father furrowed his brows and checked his watch. “Yes?”</p><p><em>Shit. Shit shit shit.</em> “I need to go,” he said, words rushing from his mouth as he rushed to push himself up, dizziness be damned, and pushed his papers together, which he’d have to finish later, but that didn’t matter because– “I need to go.”</p><p>He pushed himself up from the table, chair scraping against the wood, loud, but he ignored it as he swept his things up, stuffing them back into his battered school bag, corners crumpling– <em>shit.</em> He straightened them out and threw in the pencils and put it down by the arm chair as he looked through the shelves–</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I need to go,” he repeated, craning his head up to see where Sarah had put it but there was no sign and it was almost eight thirty and he needed to find it so he needed– “Sarah?”</p><p>“She went out with Katherine and her friends,” Les said, “remember?”</p><p>David closed his eyes. He breathed out slowly. “Right.” He knew that. “Right.” Wait, did he know that? When had she left? It didn’t matter. “Do you know where she put Jack’s–”</p><p>“She gave it to you yesterday,” Les said, the <em>duh</em> implied. “You put it in your bag.”</p><p>No, he hadn’t he’d just–  “Right!” he hurried over to the dresser and yanked the bottom drawer open to reveal– yes, his nice bag.</p><p>“David.”</p><p>He unbuckled the front and flipped it open, ran his hand along Sarah’s embroidery, and peeked inside to check– yes. Good. The cloth wrapped book was nestled next to the Barnett letter. Red embroidery on white cloth—an old project, repurposed. Sarah had abandoned it after the cheap thread snapped and Mama got her a new bobbin as a reward for doing so well in her exams but Jack wouldn’t mind the tension issues. Or maybe he would– no, he wouldn’t. He liked red. David was sure he liked red, and, anyways it matched the ribbon Sarah had brought him, which she said was from Katherine—and he had his doubts about that, but she’d refused to take it back and it was the perfect colour and she said she was sure so he’d swallowed his arguments and agreed–</p><p>“David.”</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry.” He stuffed the present back in the bag and dropped it by his boots. “I just need to– I’ll be home soon. I won’t be long, I promise, I just have to go and–”</p><p>“David, <em>stop.</em>”</p><p>He stopped.</p><p>Or, rather, in reaction to the iciness in his mother’s voice, he froze.</p><p>She had stood up at some point, her back straight. Her expression was carefully blank; a stony sort of emptiness that only came when she was furious.</p><p>“David,” she said evenly. “You are exhausted. It is late. It is dark. You can deliver Jack’s present tomorrow.”</p><p><em>The trick is keeping track of everything,</em> Sarah had told him months ago, demonstrating the technique with an invisible sling-shot. <em>You have to make sure that you have the right aim, that you’re steady, that you have a good grip of the ammo, and that your tension will propel the ammo far enough. And you do it all within a second.</em></p><p>Exact. Controlled. Tense. Aimed. Curt. His mother’s words struck true.</p><p>But… “Tomorrow is Christmas,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to intrude.”</p><p>Some remnant of leniency returned to her expression. “I do not think Jack would mind.”</p><p>He probably wouldn’t. David didn’t think he would. He might not.</p><p>But… “I would like to give it to him tonight.”</p><p>She stared at him. He tried not to shift under the burn of her scrutiny.</p><p>He did not know what she finally saw, but the remaining remnants of horrible emptiness settled into tolerable neutrality.</p><p>Finally, she sighed. “It is too cold to go out like that. Wait here.”</p><p>She started making her way to the stove where their winter clothes were drying, reaching for his–</p><p>He tried very hard not to groan. Instead, he whined: “I don’t need long johns, Mama.”</p><p>“It is chilly,” she said, pulling them down from the rack. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”</p><p>“It’s a short walk,” he defended. “And they always keep the lodging house so warm. I’ll boil.”</p><p>His father chuckled.</p><p>His mother did not appreciate that. She brandished her finger at him. The long johns trailed from her fist. “Mayer.”</p><p>His father just chuckled again. “Oh, Kochanie, let him go.”</p><p>She pursed her lips tightly. His father raised his eyebrows. She widened her eyes. He flicked his towards David.</p><p>Les looked between the two of them, watching the minute changes in their expressions, absolutely baffled.</p><p>After a series of blinks and half-smiles from his father, his mother sighed. “Fine.”
</p><p>“<em>Thank you,</em>” he said, and ran to grab his coat.</p><p>“But, David–”</p><p>“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, throwing the bag over his shoulder. He shifted it so that the corner of Jack’s book didn’t jab into his thigh. “I’m just dropping it off. It won’t take long.”</p><p>..........</p><p>David deeply regretted not listening to his mother the entire walk to the lodging house. As soon as he stepped inside, though, he was happy he’d pushed back. He tapped his boots against the door frame to dislodge the snow, then let it close behind him. One last billow of cold air tried to creep in as he did so. It was no match for the hot building, though. He unwound his scarf from his neck and looped it around the strap of his bag.</p><p>The familiar sounds of the building were fainter in the front foyer. Above him, thumps and scuffles shook the old wood floors. Peels of laughter and indiscernible shouts echoed through the floorboards. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He couldn’t say for certain, be he was reasonably sure he could pick out Albert’s barking laugh and Race’s high-pitched cackles.</p><p>David still wasn’t one for gambling—he’d been friends with the newsies for less than a year, and listened to Rabbi Amos’s lectures all his life—but he knew which one he’d identify as the instigator of whatever incident led to their giggles.</p><p>He looked around. Surprisingly, Mr. Kloppman was nowhere in sight. His shoulders settled. A surge of guilt followed his momentary relief.</p><p>Try as he might, he could not endear himself to the newsies’ caretaker. Not that he tried—or, no, that didn’t sound right. He was polite. He afforded Mr. Kloppman the respect he deserved, both as the manager of the lodging house and as something of a father figure to almost all of his friends. He just didn’t try to… pander? No, that wasn’t right either.</p><p>He wanted Mr. Kloppman to like him but he didn’t want Mr. Kloppman to know he wanted him to like him and feel pressured to like him.</p><p>He shook his head against the pitiful thought and ran up the stairs.</p><p>And right into someone holding rather a lot of mugs.</p><p>“Whoa!” came the familiar gruff shout.</p><p>He stumbled back, hands out to steady the tray he’d knocked into. “I’m so sorry!”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman had it well in hand, though, shifting the tray back in order with a sharp jerk. “Every day I tell you boys to watch where you’re going and do you? No. Head down, thundering up the stairs. You’re dead lucky I had my head up.”</p><p>The words twisted something deep in his stomach. He looked away from Mr. Kloppman’s level glare and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”</p><p>“Alright, alright. No need for all that.” Mr. Kloppman sighed. “No one got hurt. Not even the mugs.”</p><p>David nodded, then risked another glance at the elderly caretaker. Mr. Kloppman was looking at him, too, with a discerning gaze and an unreadable expression. “What happened to your face Davey?”</p><p>“Oh.” The half-healed scrapes burned at the reminder of their existence. “Nothing. Just an accident.”</p><p>“Nasty accident,” was the response. It came a beat too late to sound natural.</p><p>He nodded in return.</p><p>Mr. Kloppman narrowed his eyes.</p><p>A thud and a shuffle came from behind the door on the landing. It dashed away the questions brimming in Mr. Kloppman’s face. Instead the two of them looked to the door, watching as it swung open and revealed:</p><p>“She says she’d need baking <em>soda</em> not powder, so– oh, hey Davey.”</p><p>David blinked. “Crutchie.”</p><p>Said boy smiled at David, quick but genuine. The smile dropped as he glanced over to Mr. Kloppman and back to David. “Uh… what’s–?”</p><p>“Nothing.” David felt the weight of Mr. Kloppman’s eyes but kept his attention on Crutchie. “How are you? We missed you today.”</p><p>David kept his attention solely on his friend as he waited for the response. He had a feeling that whatever look Mr. Kloppman was giving him could not be anywhere near as judgmental and disbelieving as Crutchie’s.</p><p>He tried not to collapse in relief when Crutchie’s only response was: “Yeah, been busy here so I stayed back with Miss Ollie. Delivery boy messed up the kitchen order so we had to make her a new list and then made the fellas go ‘round to the stores soon as they finished up for the day. 'Cept we were tryin' to make sure Jack didn't find out since he'd've gone to stores all 'round town if he did, so you must've missed it. But, anyways, they were all out ‘til the last minute. Course everyone in the city’s doin’ that right now.” He paused, then laughed. “Sorry, guess not everyone. We're still missin' some stuff so Miss Ollie’s trying to redo the menu even though she’s gotta start preppin’ lots of it tonight.”</p><p>“That sounds like…” David paused, mulling through the list, then finished with: “quite a lot to manage.”</p><p>“We’ll manage,” Mr. Kloppman said. “Always do, always will.”</p><p>Crutchie sent him a disbelieving look. “Still, don’t think it’s been quite this bad.”</p><p>“That’s ‘cause I didn’t make you deal with Rosh Hashanah this year,” Mr. Kloppman said.</p><p>Crutchie’s disbelieving look shifted to a grimace. “Right. Okay. Still though; Albert had to go to three shops before he found any almonds.”</p><p>“I had to go to five before I could find some half-decent apple and those were still bruised so bad they turned to mush when you took a bite.” Mr. Kloppman countered. “And it serves Al right; I’m pretty sure he’s the only one that likes marzipan. Besides Mrs. Oliver, that is.”</p><p>“You like marzipan, David?” Crutchie asked.</p><p>He startled at the unexpected question. Two pairs of eyes watched him expectantly. “I… don’t mind it, I suppose.”</p><p>Crutchie just laughed. “Always the diplomat, huh? You can just say you don’t like it; we won’t go holdin’ it against you.” He paused, then laughed again, jerked his head towards the door, and, at a loud whisper, said: “Well, Mrs. Ollie would but she can’t hear us from here.”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman snorted. “How’s she doing?”</p><p>The grimace returned. “Uh…”</p><p>“Scale of one to ten, how mad is she?” Mr. Kloppman clarified.</p><p>Crutchie scrunched his nose up in thought. “I’m gonna give her a six. She ain’t mad. Well, she ain’t mad like angry-mad. She’s more… uh… she said she was ‘in a tizzy’ but she was a bit more…”</p><p>“Frazzled?” David offered.</p><p>Crutchie snapped his fingers and pointed to him. “Frazzled. She’s a ten for frazzled.”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman grimaced. Though there was little resemblance between them, it was remarkably similar to the expression Crutchie wore only moments ago. “I was hoping we might still be at an eight.”</p><p>“I think we passed eight 'round six o’ clock.” Crutchie turned to David. His smile was teasing and his eyes were pleading. “Don’t suppose you know how to stretch thirty potatoes, two chickens, and a small goose between fifty hungry boys without no one noticing?”</p><p>“Not really, sorry,” he said. “I mean… besides smaller portions? Or maybe making something special to distract from it? Like… biscuits or rolls or something? Though those aren’t all that special–” He cut himself off with a shrug. “Sorry. I’m not much help with these sorts of things.”</p><p>Crutchie smirked. “No worries. I mean, I’m never much help to no one so you’re ahead of me.”</p><p>“Hey,” David warned.</p><p>“Who said that?” Mr. Kloppman growled at the same time.</p><p>Kloppman shot David a look. David ducked away from it. “Sorry, I should–”</p><p>“No, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Crutchie shifted his crutch under his arm. He ducked his head, but not before they could see his cheeks reddening and his brows drawing in tight; the look of someone who didn’t mean to reveal so much of himself. David knew that look well. “I’m just… in a mood.”</p><p>“Hmph,” Mr. Kloppman grumbled. “I’ll pretend to believe you. But I won’t hear you repeating that sort of nonsense again. You know I don’t stand for that sort of thing; I won’t have you boys spreading lies. There’s enough stupid in the world. You don’t need to add to it by letting it echo or giving it worth. ”</p><p>Crutchie’s lips twitched up. “Got it.”</p><p>“Good. Now,” he turned to David; “where were you running off to?”</p><p>David looked between his still blushing friend and the lodging house manager. Mr. Kloppman raised one bushy eyebrow expectantly.</p><p>Right. He had it in hand.</p><p>“Um. I was just…” he went to reach into his bag, but stopped himself. “Is Jack here?”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman nodded. “He is. You need him?”</p><p>“Not for long. I just wanted to drop something off and I didn’t want to interrupt tomorrow’s festivities.”</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Crutchie said with a scoff. “It’s Christmas; more the merrier!”</p><p>“He’s in one of the offices down on the first floor. Take a left at the bottom of the stairs,” Mr. Kloppman told him. “Apparently he got an idea on his way over and didn’t want any of the other boys bothering him before he could get it on paper. He won’t mind you though.”</p><p>David nodded again. “Thank you, sir.”</p><p>Crutchie grinned. “<em>Sir.</em>”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman rolled his eyes. “Just for that you get to go tell Mrs. Oliver about the chipped saucer.”</p><p>“No,” Crutchie whined, still grinning. “She’s gonna be mad.”</p><p>“She won’t be mad.”</p><p>“She’s gonna be disappointed.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“That’s worse!”</p><p>“Yep.” Mr. Kloppman shifted the tray to balance it on his hip. He used his now free hand to ruffle Crutchie’s hair. “It’s good practice. You’re oughta learn how to give those sorts of soul-crushing looks yourself. I never managed it and look at where I am.”</p><p>Crutchie affected a shudder. “Can’t have that.”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman’s affectionate ruffle turned into a light shove. “Off with you.”</p><p>Crutchie just laughed, saluted, winked at David, shoved the door open with his shoulder, then went back into the fray.</p><p>Leaving David with Mr. Kloppman.</p><p>Who was staring at him.</p><p>“Um…” he said into the tense silence. “So… is Jack… upstairs?”</p><p>Mr. Kloppman just kept looking at him. After a few more agonizing moments passed, he sighed loudly, rubbed his hand down his face, and shook his head. “Davey, do you need a place to stay?”</p><p>David blinked at the sudden change in subject. “I– no, sir?”</p><p>“Alright. Let me know if that changes,” Mr. Kloppman said. He once again waved his arm up. “Go ahead; he should still be down there.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir?” David said, still feeling lost.</p><p>Mr. Kloppman, gallingly, patted him on the shoulder, nodded once, and walked away.</p><p>David stood there for a moment, watching as Mr. Kloppman took the tray back in both hands, nudged the door open with his foot, and used his shoulder to prop it open as he made his way into the kitchen. He stood there as the door swung closed. He stood there as he tried to sort Mr. Kloppman’s words into sense.</p><p>Nope. Nothing.</p><p>He walked down the stairs and turned left as instructed.</p><p>He hadn’t really been in this area of the lodging house. There were three doors along the back wall. The second was slightly ajar. He pushed it open further and peeked through the widened gap.</p><p>Jack was hunched over the table, the lamp above him the only point of light in the room. Sheets of paper were scattered around him. He’d unbuttoned his flannel at some point. The collar hung open to show the top of his undershirt, the peak of a sharp collar bone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His head was tipped over to rest on one hand. He held a pencil in his other hand, and tapped it against the wooden table. There was a rhythm to the beats; slow, quick-quick, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.</p><p>He put the pencil down with a sigh and leaned back, combing his hand through his hair. A few stray pieces fell back onto his forehead. Jack grimaced, eyes darting up to glare at the rebellious strands. David pressed down a laugh at his friend’s exasperation, at the genuine offence he always seemed to develop towards his hair the minute it got a quarter inch longer than his preference. David had half a mind to fix it for him, to take scissors to the damn mop, shearing it so short that Jack squawked indignantly. Or maybe he’d push it back himself, following the familiar path Jack’s hand always took, watching his own pale fingers disappear into the dark curls, nails scratching gently, if only to see how Jack reacted, to see if his eyes would meet David’s and if his lips would tip up into that soft smile he only got in quiet moments and if he’d lean in and–</p><p>No. No, David did <em>not</em> want to do that. No.</p><p>He knocked on the doorframe.</p><p>Jack jumped with a yelp.</p><p>David pressed down a grin. “I swear I wasn’t actually trying to scare you this time.”</p><p>“Davey,” Jack said, eyes wide. “I– Hi. Uh… come in.”</p><p>“Hi,” he said, doing just so. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”</p><p>“Nah.” Jack shuffled the drawings off to the side. “Just had an idea for this new backdrop. Wanted to make sure I got it out before the guys started trying to get me to play charades.”</p><p>“Oh.” He walked over to the table and tried to peak over at the scraps of paper Jack was shoving to the side. “For Medda?”</p><p>“No, uh…” Jack scratched his head, fingers tangling in his too-long curls– nope. Not thinking about it. “For a friend of hers. She introduced us on Friday. They liked my stuff so they wanted to see what I’d do for their next show.”</p><p>David beamed and nudged Jack’s shoulder. “Congratulations!”</p><p>Jack ducked, also beaming, though his grin had a distinctly embarrassed edge. “Hold your horses; they ain’t even agreed to it yet.”</p><p>“They will.” He scanned the various pieces of paper. There were a lot of landscapes confined to tall rectangles. “Can I see it?”</p><p>“Course, Davey.” Jack grabbed one of the larger pieces and motioned towards one of the other chairs with his free hand. “Grab a seat and stay a while.”</p><p>David looked around for a clock. In the absence of one, he sighed, and pulled the chair closer to Jack’s side. “Alright,” he said as he sat down, and put his bag down on the table. “But I can’t stay long. I just came to drop off–” Jack handed the picture over. David’s protests died on his lips. “Oh, <em>Jack.</em>”</p><p>Beams of light punctured through the forest canopy, illuminating the patchwork of wildflowers. A tree trunk fell off the left side, half-hidden by the boundary between sketch and page. Even though it was only a mock-up—even though he could only conjure a hazy vision of the finished product—he knew it would be breathtaking.</p><p>Jack grinned. “Yeah. I’m, uh… I like it. Hopefully they like it too.”</p><p>“They will,” he said, now even more certain. He went to return the page to the pile.</p><p>One of the pieces of paper stared back.</p><p>David plucked it off the pile. The mirror it had hidden glinted as it was revealed.</p><p>It was a woman, round faced and elegant. Her eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with thick lashes. Dark glossy curls spilled over her shoulder.</p><p>She was very pretty.</p><p>He looked up at Jack. He wouldn’t meet his eyes.</p><p>“Who’s this?”</p><p>“Uh…” the sound got higher the longer it dragged on. “No one?”</p><p>“Well, that’s not the least bit suspicious,” David joked despite the pit in his stomach. “She’s not– I mean, she looks like she’s… older than us, right? I mean, you aren’t…”</p><p>Jack did meet his eyes for that. “What?” Instead of embarrassment, his face was the very image of absolute revulsion. “<em>Ugh.</em> No!”</p><p>“What do you mean <em>ugh?</em>” David defended. His cheeks burned. “She’s very pretty. I don’t see why such a notion would be so–”</p><p>“She’s not… I was just tryin’ to…” Jack cut at the air with a series of sharp gestures, sweeping about for an explanation. His hands fell to the table and twisted together. “I was… uh… I was tryin’ to draw my Ma.”</p><p>David froze. “Oh.”</p><p>Pointed out, he couldn’t see how he’d missed it. The resemblance wasn’t very strong, but it was there—something in the warm expression and the considering gaze.</p><p>He also remembered a few months earlier, when Jack made his whispered confession. It would be impossible to forget the shattered look in Jack’s eyes, the tremble in his voice, as he’d offered the best answer he could to David’s thoughtlessly intrusive question.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t–”</p><p>“I don’t.” Jack agreed. “I just… my Pa used to say I looked a bit like her. Had her hair and her eyes and her–” he tapped his chin then shrugged “–so I thought… you know. Make up the rest and maybe…”</p><p>David looked back at the drawing. Jack’s mother. The half-imagined woman that Jack never had the chance to know. The woman that gave him his dearest friend.</p><p>“She looks lovely,” he offered. The words were grossly inadequate.</p><p>Nevertheless, Jack smiled. “Pa used to say nothin’ good came out of the South, just mosquito bites and the sort of heat that sticks your shirt on your back and takes the air from your lungs. 'Cept her.”</p><p>“You don’t…talk about her,” he said cautiously, an observation based on his own experience and the hesitancy that coloured Jack’s voice.</p><p>Jack shrugged. “Not much to say. I was really little when she died. Most of what I know is what my Pa said. And he talked ‘bout her lots but he didn’t say nothin’.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Jack tapped his nail against the table. It took a few beats for David to recognize that it was the same rhythm as before. Slow, quick-quick. One-two-three. One two-three.</p><p>Jack threaded his hands back together. “He got sick when I was ‘bout… six, I think? I wasn’t supposed to go see him. I was never good at listenin’, though, so I did. And… I knew he was goin’ so I wanted to say goodbye. But he wasn’t really there. He just kept sayin’ ‘Francis, your ma… she was the most beautiful gal you’d ever seen.’” With each word, his voice slipped deeper, with the slightest rasp, with the vowels pulling up at the edges. David didn’t think Jack noticed the change. “‘The love of my life; my Spanish rose, my Jacinta’.” Jack smirked. “Not much to go on there, huh? Least I know she was pretty.”</p><p>Something heavy had taken up residence in David’s stomach. The dull pain spread up to his chest and clenched its hand around his heart.</p><p>The silence grew heavy. Jack broke it with a laugh. “Geez. I’m being a right downer, huh? And on Christmas Eve.”</p><p>David shook his head. “You know that doesn’t matter to me, Jack.”</p><p>Jack peaked up cautiously. “No?”</p><p>“I’m Jewish.”</p><p>Jack shoved him. David rocked to the side, then rocked back a little further to bump his shoulder against Jack’s. Jack laughed slightly, just a few amused puffs of air. It was quiet and airy and infinitely better than the broken sound Jack had tried to pass off as amusement before.</p><p>“So…” he said, stretching the word out in an attempt to temper his question. “Jacinta, huh?”</p><p>Jack snorted at the attempted subtlety. “I thought you’d be stuck on Francis.”</p><p>He looked over at Jack. His face was carefully blank. “Should I be?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. His mouth curled into a bitter frown. “So long as you don’t start callin’ me it–”</p><p>“I wouldn’t,” he promised.</p><p>The painful twist of Jack’s lips settled with a sigh, then tipped up at the corners, apologetic and unbearably soft. “I know, Davey.”</p><p>David looked away. His eyes were drawn back to the newsprint. Graphite fingerprints dotted the edge and darkened the corners. But there wasn’t a single smudge in the portrait itself. Not even in the peripheral paper. Jack wasn’t a particularly careful person; he seemed to see risks as a challenge rather than a warning. That translated into his speech and manner. His sentences brimmed with passion and heart. His gestures were rough and affectionate. Whatever scraps of fastidiousness Jack had in his body were devoted to his art. Even still, there was usually some trace of his enthusiasm in his work—a stray mark, the ghosts of erasures. But every line of his mother’s face was exact.</p><p>How long had Jack sat here—eyes flicking from the mirror to the blank page, pencil poised, considering, quiet, and alone—before he even laid down a stroke?</p><p>David looked back up to Jack. He was also staring down at the table. At the drawing.</p><p>“Jacinta…” David said, unable to bring himself louder than a murmur. “That’s J-A-C-I-N-T-A, isn’t it?”</p><p>Jack was very still. And then… the slightest nod.</p><p>There had been many times where David had been certain he could not handle his fondness for Jack. None of them compared to this moment. “You named yourself after her?”</p><p>Jack shrugged. “I used up my last name in the Refuge and…” he trailed off. His gaze was still trained on the drawing but eyes were far away. “Well, I guess she was the one I wanted to keep hold of. Figured it was close enough to her and close enough to everyone else that it’d work.”</p><p>He nodded. “It’s, um… it’s nice,” he tried. It sounded just as dumb as he thought it would.</p><p>Jack smirked. “Thanks.” After a moment, his smirk grew wider, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Kelly came from a song, though. Heard it when some poor sop got tossed on his ass for tryin’ to sing it in that bar on Reade. Don’t know what he thought was gonna happen, tryin’ that in New York. Probably couldn’t help it; even I gotta admit ‘Slide, Kelly, Slide’ is catchy as hell.”</p><p>That surprised a laugh out of him. His hand flew up to cover his smile. “Really?”</p><p>Jack winked. “Can’t make that up, Davey.”</p><p>David shook his head. “You could.”</p><p>“Well…” he looked directly into David’s eyes. “I ain’t.”</p><p>“<em>Jack Kelly,</em>” he tried. The name felt different in his mouth now that he knew the heart behind it. “Man of mystery.”</p><p>“Not as many now, I guess.” Jack said. “Not for you.”</p><p>“I’m touched.”</p><p>Jack inhaled sharply.</p><p>The honesty caught them both by surprise.</p><p>Jack looked back down at the table. “Y’know,” he said slowly. He cleared his throat. “Sometimes…” he trailed off with a sigh. “It’s stupid.”</p><p>David waited. Then, in barely a whisper: “Tell me anyways.”</p><p>Jack peeked up at him, wary. His lips trembled at the corners. “Sometimes… I think maybe…” His gaze flickered back down to the drawing. He swallowed, throat bobbing heavily. “Maybe she was nice? My Ma. I like to think she’d’ve been a good Ma. If she had the chance.”</p><p>As he spoke, he reached out to the drawing. His fingers brushed along the edges. They were trembling. David was struck with the urge to take Jack’s hand in his until his fingers steadied. He wanted to lace their fingers together. He wanted to hold on as tightly as he could. He wanted to reach out and never let go.</p><p>He pointed to the picture instead. “May I?”</p><p>Jack nodded.</p><p>He took the drawing in hand and held it up. The shadows of his fingers shone across and through the thin paper. This close he could see the pulp in the page and the metallic shine of the graphite.</p><p>He looked past all that. He looked for what neither of them would really be able to know. He looked for what Jack needed to know.</p><p>“She would have been a good mother,” he agreed.</p><p>“Yeah?” Jack asked, hope threading through his thin voice.</p><p>David nodded, feeling a little stronger. “Yeah. She would have been….” There was a gentleness in her features, in the round curve of her cheeks. Her heavy-lidded eyes were dark and thoughtful. “She was very kind.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Jack leaned forwards. “Yeah; she was.”</p><p>“Right,” he said. “If she was kind then she would have been a good mother.”</p><p>Jack considered this. “You think so?”</p><p>David nodded. “Yes.”</p><p>“Okay.” There was a pause. Then, low and uncertain: “Um… is there anything...”</p><p>David froze, caught. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Jack said quickly. “Never mind, I just–”</p><p>“She was brave.” The words tumbled from his lips.</p><p>Jack cut off. “Yeah?”</p><p><em>Yeah?</em> “Yeah,” he said. He was gratified he at least sounded certain. “I mean… she had to be. Leaving Cuba? And then moving halfway across the country? All without knowing much of the language? It would have been difficult. It must have been terrifying. But she did it anyway. Because…”</p><p>“Because she loved him,” Jack finished.</p><p>“Yes.” David agreed. “She loved him.” After a moment, he reminded Jack of what he had apparently forgotten: “And you. That’s… that’s important. She was brave because she chose love over fear. She didn’t let her uncertainty stop her from taking care of the people she cared about. And she cared deeply. I think… she had faith in people.”</p><p>Jack leaned in closer. “What does that mean?”</p><p>David swallowed heavily. “I just… I think she saw the best in others. Or she saw what the world could be and chose to believe that that was what it could become. She left everything she knew because she thought she could find a new happiness with your father. And, later, that she could provide you with a happy life.”</p><p>Jack frowned. “Yeah. Didn’t work out that way, though.”</p><p>“No,” David agreed. “It didn’t. But... it still mattered. That she was kind. That she was brave. And that she...” He trailed off, his mind grasping for what wasn't there.</p><p>It was ridiculous, really, him attempting to conjure up an image of a woman he never knew. Even if he had met her, he would never be able to do justice to her.</p><p>But Jack was asking him to.</p><p>Jack had given him a voice. He’d given him friends. Only a few weeks ago, Jack had given him his most prized possession, something so close to his heart he might as well have carved the organ out of his chest, wrapped it in newsprint, and handed it over. He had taken his heart and scratched out his own name and relabeled it as David’s. As <em>Davey’s</em>. Jack had given him more than David could ever return. Even if he tried, he could never return the favour the right way.</p><p>But he could give Jack this.</p><p>He looked back at the drawing. He traced his eyes over the careful lines, in the hopes that they would reveal even the faintest insight.</p><p>The sharp line of her jaw caught his attention. It jutted out a little bit, the slightest clench, the hint of a dare. “Probably pretty stubborn.”</p><p>Jack snorted. “Course.”</p><p>“Maybe she wasn’t a good listener,” he teased.</p><p>“Nice try, but I know I got that from my Pa.”</p><p>“Why not both?”</p><p>Jack prodded his shoulder. David nudged him back, then turned to the drawing once more.</p><p>There was a patch of blank paper in the corner of her eye, glinting in amusement. “She was funny,” he decided. “She liked to make people laugh—she liked how it put others at ease.”</p><p>There was a shadow at the corner of her mouth, where her lips tipped up into the barest hint of a smile. “And you had to earn her trust. She didn’t give it freely.”</p><p>Jacinta Sullivan revealed herself with each moment he considered her. “She was warm,” he said of the soft line of her jaw. “And she was inspiring,” he said, looking once more at the glint in her eyes. “She made people want to be better than they were—because she saw what was good in them. She saw what people could be and made people want to grow to fit that image. And she was devoted.” His heart ached the more he realized just how much had been lost with her passing; how much she would have given Jack if she had gotten to stay. “She felt responsible for those she loved. She wanted to give them everything she had, more than she had. She didn’t see that she gave them so much just by being herself. She was hard on herself—too hard on herself—but… she did so out of love. She just wanted to provide them what she thought they deserved, and she thought they deserved everything she could give and more.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>David looked up.</p><p>The image of Jacinta Sullivan faded away.</p><p>Or, rather, it solidified. It settled. It aligned exactly with the person he had been describing.</p><p>He dropped the drawing back on the table. “Sorry, I–”</p><p>Jack’s hand covered his.</p><p>David’s voice died in his throat.</p><p>Jack’s hand was warmer than David’s. It looked warmer, golden brown in the dull lamp light. His thumb nudged against the side of David’s hand. His index finger was smudged with graphite. There was some paint on Jack’s thumb; little flecks under his short nails, caught on the rough-bitten skin of his cuticles. It was blue—<em>cerulean</em>, Jack had called it, all careful pronunciation and glittering eyes. He must have missed it when he had scrubbed his hands clean with Medda’s old rags. Or maybe he’d tried scrubbing it off and then gave up. David could picture him: thumb sticking up, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed to slits, lips pursed into a tight frown, the way they always did when he focused too hard. David was certain Jack didn’t know he did it and David wasn’t about to tell him. Sometimes he wanted to, though. Or he wanted to smile to himself and then go up to Jack, so close that their shoulders pressed together, so close that the warmth of Jack’s skin raised the hair on his arms and made his hands tremble and his chest clench tight. He wanted to reach up and poke his cheek, to make Jack turn his head towards him, long lashes fluttering in surprise then fluttering closed as David leaned in and–</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> No.</p><p>No.</p><p>No, he didn’t want to do that.</p><p>He didn’t notice <em>any</em> of that.</p><p><em>God,</em> why did Jack have to be so <em>tactile.</em></p><p>“I better get going,” he said. His voice sounded far away. “It’s getting late.”</p><p>“Right,” Jack said. He folded his hands on the table. “Right, sorry–”</p><p>“No, please,” David couldn’t hear that word from Jack's mouth. Not when he desperately wanted to say it and couldn’t because how the <em>hell</em> could he explain why he needed to apologize without– David swallowed his many tangled confessions and said: “I just… my parents…”</p><p> “Sure, course, Davey.” Jack said tonelessly. “You got folks.”</p><p>David’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Jack, I’m–”</p><p>“No, sorry, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I…” Jack grimaced. “I just… it’s fine.”</p><p>“Okay,” David said. He tried for a smile. “Goodnight.”</p><p>“Yeah. Night.” Jack’s voice was as heavy as his frown. “I’ll… I’ll see you Tuesday, right?”</p><p>He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”</p><p>Jack looked down at the table. “Okay.”</p><p>David’s lips trembled. He pressed them flat. He shut his eyes. He turned to leave.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>He turned back.</p><p>Jack’s eyes were trained on the table. “Your bag.”</p><p>“Right.” He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulders. It settled against his leg, the sharp point of Jack’s book jabbing his thigh–</p><p>Oh.</p><p>He pulled the present out of his bag and placed it on the table. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”</p><p>He left before he had to hear Jack’s answer.</p><p>..........</p><p>The wind would have been unbearable if he could feel anything other than his shame.</p><p>
  <em>You got folks.</em>
</p><p>Wherever Jacinta Sullivan was, he hoped she wasn’t watching. He hoped… he hoped she’d let him earn her forgiveness.</p><p>He swiped at his eyes with his coat sleeve and turned the last corner.</p><p>Sarah was waiting, sitting on the old discarded chair by the stairwell. Even from yards away, he could see her shivering in the cold. She had borrowed their mother’s jacket, which wasn’t uncommon. She was also wearing their mother’s scarf, which seemed odd. He hastened his gait as fast as he could, ducking his head down to watch for icy patches. He looked up as he approached her side, opening his mouth to apologize for–</p><p>It wasn’t Sarah.</p><p>His mother stood up. “You’re late.”</p><p>He blinked. Her shoulders trembled. Her lips were pale. “How long have you been out here? It’s freezing.”</p><p>“It is.” She agreed. “But I was worried. Because you are late.”</p><p>“I…” he swallowed against the lump in his throat, through the heavy weight in his chest. “I’m sorry. I just… I lost track of time. With Jack.”</p><p>“You’re spending a lot of time with him.”</p><p>There was a note he couldn’t recognize in her voice. “Is that a problem?”</p><p>Her eyes hardened. “Watch your tone.”</p><p>He winced. “Yes, Mama.”</p><p>She sighed. “I didn’t mean… I am just worried,” she explained. “You never used to come home from meetings so upset. Has something happened?”</p><p>His throat tightened. His heart jolted. His eyes burned– “No.”</p><p>“But you are spending all this time with Jack and then coming home so–”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” he interrupted. “I just…”</p><p>He didn’t know.</p><p>He knew all too well.</p><p>But she didn’t. She couldn’t.</p><p>A hand reached for his face. He flinched away.</p><p>His mother’s eyes were wide. They shone in the lamplight. Her hand was still outstretched. “David?”</p><p>“Sorry.” He wiped away his tears. “Sorry, I’m…”</p><p>“David–”</p><p>“I’m just tired,” he said. The truth of the statement sank into his bones. “I just… can we go inside? Please?”</p><p>She lowered her hand slowly, and settled it on his shoulder. He looked down at the buttons on her coat as she brushed his hair off his brow. None of them matched. Not really. They were all the same colour, similar design. A few were smaller, though. One of them had slipped undone.</p><p>“Go upstairs,” she said. “I will make you some cocoa.”</p><p>He shook his head. “I don’t need cocoa.”</p><p>“<em>David.</em>”</p><p>He froze.</p><p>She sighed again. Deeply. “Lemon water with honey?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Go upstairs.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Credit where credit is due, Jewishdavidjacobs’s “Keeping Promises” is the originator of the “Jack Kelly is a mama’s boy who named himself after her” headcanon. I take full credit for “Slide Kelly Slide”, though, which is a song from 1889. It was written for Michael “King” Kelly who played for the Chicago White Stockings and the Boston Beaneaters. That was a crapshoot of a web search if ever the was one and yet it worked out in my favour. Stars aligned. Choir of angels. The whole shebang.</p><p>(also, before anyone starts yelling, I very much meant reprise in the "Sante Fe" sense, so if you didn’t think this was going to be even more heartbreaking than the last gift exchange, I don’t know what to tell you)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. You can also find me as benafee on tumblr. I cannot promise or commit to an update schedule but I can promise and commit to doing my best.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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